Daredevils: Meridian
by Arcsquad12
Summary: The Third Aurelian Crusade erupts on the Hive World Meridian. Beset on all sides by Traitors, Heretics and Xenos, the last line of defense falls to the Imperial Guard. Sergeant Major Merrick, senior NCO of the 85th Vendoland 4th company, sees his troopers thrust into the heaviest fighting. They are the famed Vendoland Grenadiers. Welcome to the Daredevils.
1. By the Emperor's Will: Prologue

**DAREDEVILS: MERIDIAN**

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><p><em>In the early years of the 42nd Millennium, war continued to rage across the Eastern Fringe of Segmentum Ultima. The Korianis Sector, still recovering from the ravages of a splinter tendril of the dreaded Hive Fleet Leviathan, suffered multiple subsequent calamities, known now as the Aurelian Crusades. The target of this aggression was Subsector Aurelia, a strategically important Imperial holding along the Fringe, and the vital recruiting worlds of the Blood Ravens, a chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.<em>

_In 001.M42, a Black Legion warband led by Araghast the Pillager assaulted Aurelia's planetary systems, seeking to unleash the bound Daemon, Ulkair. This act would trigger the Second Aurelian Crusade, which would last several bloody months and threaten to wrest control of the subsector from the Imperium's grasp. Through great cost to both the Blood Ravens and the assisting Imperial forces, the Araghast's host was defeated, and their numbers scattered across the subsector. However, this would not be the end of troubles to plague Aurelia._

_On the sector capital of Meridian, noble houses that had sided with the traitor legions rose up against the unpopular Imperial government, committing their Houses' considerable military power to the cults. The most powerful of these, the Hounds of Vandis, sought to challenge the Imperial forces in open combat. The personal army of the former governor, Gregor Vandis, the Hounds took control of Hive Urizen, Meridian's stronghold in the southern hemisphere. With the Blood Ravens deployed to various warzones along the Eastern Fringe, the duty fell to the local Imperial Guard regiments to take the fight to the Hounds. Three regiments of the Vendoland Guard; the 36th Recon, 46th Armored and 85th Infantry, moved on Urizen, intent on driving the traitors from the city._

_This proved to be disastrous. Within a week of fighting for the outskirts of the Hive, the Vendoland regiments became bogged down in deadly street to street fighting, resulting in massive losses. This blow would set off a series of renewed battles for the war torn planet. Imperial Guard forces were deployed en masse to Subsector Aurelia to pacify the troubled region of space, but it would not be until 003.M42 that the conflict would subside._

_This period of time is recognized as the beginning of the Third Aurelian Crusade. These early years were marked by numerous engagements across Meridian. The various factions vying for control would soon settle into established zones of control that would remain unchanged for nearly ten years. It is also here that many notable Imperial Guard regiments faced their first trial by fire._

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><p><span><strong><em>Excerpt from "The Early Crusades of M42" (Inquisitor M. Adrastia)<em>**


	2. By The Emperor's Will: Concrete Chaos

**By the Emperor's Will**

***INTERCEPTED BROADCAST FROM MERIDIAN, SUBSECTOR AURELIA***

...

Puppets of the Imperium, hear us. We are the Hounds of Vandis, the rightful heirs to Meridian. Hive Urizen shall stand as an example for all who oppose our rule. Your mewling leaders have failed you, and in time, all shall come to know Chaos's embrace. You may accept our dominance, or be swept away by the tide. We are legion. We are coming.

...

**KAR DUNIASH, SEGMENTUM COMMAND [ULTIMA]**

"Our Astropaths received that transmission three days ago," said the scribe. He placed the transcript on Officer Traxta's desk. "We understand that a local cult uprising has overrun Urizen Hive, the primary settlement in the planet's southern hemisphere."

Traxta skimmed over the report. The Imperial Guard had marched on the Hive, bolstered by Meridian's significant Planetary Defense Force. The troops committed to the offensive were Crusade veterans, three Vendoland regiments. Good, thought Traxt. As the Officio Tactica officer overseeing Imperial Guard deployments in the Korianis Sector, he had heard word of the Vendolander's exploits. The unsung heroes of the Aurelian Crusades, some called them. Efficient fighters, at the least. Traxta was wary though. The Imperial Guard regiments were being committed entirely to the operation, and the casualty estimates were dangerously high. He knew what must be done.

"Issue a deployment order for Subsector Aurelia. Standard occupation force, with additional reserves as the situation requires." The scribe hastily gathered the necessary paperwork. The officer raised his hand just as the scribe reached the door. "Lorell, what do we know about these 'Hounds of Vandis'? What sort of cult are we dealing with?"

The scribe shrugged. "I'm afraid I do not know much, my lord. According to records they are the private bodyguard of the previous planetary governor, Gregor Vandis. He was deposed some time ago, but the cult has remained a threat throughout Subsector Aurelia."

The officer stroked his chin. "It will be several weeks before a relief force can arrive from the nearest outposts. The Vendoland regiments will be on their own. I hope they are up to the challenge."

"They will need to be," said Lorell plainly. "The alternative is unacceptable."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Concrete Chaos<strong>

A flurry of las shots swished past Sergeant Major Merrick's head, missing by inches. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground of the shelter. Around him, members of the 4th Company grenadiers, the Daredevils squad, lay in cover. More shots peppered the rockcrete, passing through the wide gaps where cannon fire had blown the room open. Merrick pressed his back against the wall, and shuffled along until he could peer out through the large gap. Cautiously, Merrick chanced a glance outside. He didn't like what he saw.

The Hab block they were pinned down in law along the banks of a canal. A company of House Vandis soldiers had reached their side of the bridge. He could make out dozens of Hounds unloading their supply trucks. They were setting up mortars, autocannons, and heavy bolters. Merrick's squad lay trapped on the top floor of the shelter. The Hounds of Vandis were proving to be far more stubborn than command had anticipated. If his team didn't move soon, the Dogs would blow the building. More gunfire lashed through the gap. Merrick quickly moved away before they could draw a bead on him.

Squad sergeant Hurst moved to Merrick's side. "How bad?" he asked.

"They're setting up their big guns, we've got to move soon," said Merrick. He tilted his head towards the comm trooper. "Has Alek picked anything up on the vox?"

Hurst grunted. "Some stuff, none of it good. The Dogs broke through Hab Block Tertius as well. The rest of 4th had pulled back to Arminius Square."

"Well, we know where to head, don't we?" said Merrick. "Haven't heard anything from your LT, have you?"

"Not a word," said Hurst, shaking his head. "Hopefully, Hunder got the rest of the platoon out ahead of the dogs."

Merrick hoisted his hellgun, and clipped his breather mask on. "Well, then there's no sense in us waiting around, is there? We're going to have to risk it." Merrick looked around the room at the other grenadiers. "Everyone, towards the stairwell. Once we hit street level, start running, two by two. One person covers the other until we're all across. Understood men?"

"Got it sarge," said Private Remer. "Can I run with Vornas?"

Hurst gave the private a wilting look. "Any particular reason, Remer?"

Remer shrugged. "Well, Vornas is a big guy, and I'm no fan of bullet wounds... you understand my meaning?"

The large man next to Remer, Vornas, snarled at the grenadier. Merrick didn't need to say anything. One glare before snapping his goggles on and the private shut right up. "Let's move it people!" barked the sergeant major.

As quickly as they could, the grenadiers pressed flat against the floor and crawled towards the stairwell at the back of the room. Catching their movement, the Hounds began showering the room with fire. Las bolts and autogun rounds ripped through the air above them, and the thunderous pounding of a heavy autocannon left their ears ringing. Reachign the stairs first, Merrick pushed each man through, making sure nobody was left behind. When the last trooper hit the stairwell, Merrick raced down the steps, trailing after the squad.

More autocannon fire rocked the building. Cracks appeared in the rockcrete walls, fracturing into a spiderweb of loose pieces. The building began to shudder. Desperate now, the squad kept up their swift pace, moving as fast as they could to reach the ground floor. Merrick followed closely, leaping down a flight of stairs at a time to keep up with Hurst and the others. Something above them snapped, and the hab block began to crumble. "Go, go, go!" shouted Merrick. "It's coming down! Get out now!"

The stairwell was choked in dust, making it impossible to see. Blind, the Daredevils desperately tried to outrun the collapsing Hab block. Panic mixed with adrenaline as Merrick pushed himself harder, until finally, the guardsmen burst onto the sun bleached promenade. Merrick shouted at his troops. "Come on men, keep moving! Across the street, now! Two by two, come on!"

The grenadiers dashed across the street. Behind them, the Hab collapsed under its weight, disintegrating into rubble. Merrick's troops took advantage of the distraction to move into the alleyways. Vandis soldiers clad in black and gold armor caught sight of the grenadiers as they fled, and fired shots after them. The squad responded with concentrated Hellgun shots, downing two of the heretics as they emerged from cover. Vornas hefted his grenade launcher, and fired a spread of smoke grenades. Blinded by the thick white clouds, the heretics failed to stop the guardsmen from vanishing into the city slums.

* * *

><p>A handful of Guardsmen were pinned behind an overturned truck, trading shots with the Hounds set up at the intersection. The cultists were bolstered by a Rhino transport, its Arbites markings torn off and replaced with cult sigils and chaotic markings. Sergeant Gren tossed a krak grenade over the truck. The grenade struck the Rhino, and the shaped charge blasted through the carrier's armor. The Vandis troopers were undeterred by the explosion, and continued to lay down fire on the trapped guardsmen.<p>

"Any ideas?" asked Corporal Kreyn. Gren fired a few shots blindly at the cultists. He wracked his head, thinking of a way out. The answer came to him in the form of another squad suddenly bursting out of an alley into the middle of the firefight. They were grenadiers, well armed and already engaging the Hounds as they poured into the open.

"This is our chance," said Gren. He shouted a war cry and led his squad into the fray. With the Hounds engaged by the grenadiers, Gren's troopers hit them from the side, with knife and bayonet and lasgun. The melee was quick and brutal; by the time it was over seconds later, thirteen cultists and one guardsmen lay dead. Gren sighed and knelt over the soldier's body. Farrow had taken a shot to the throat. He was dead before he'd hit the ground. Quietly, Gren closed his friend's eyes and whispered a prayer for him.

Standing up, the sergeant viewed his rescuers. The six grenadiers were immediately familiar to Gren. "I see we meet again, 4th company. The name's Gren, we fought together at Spire Legis. Didn't think you'd be coming to our rescue again, but I'll take it all the same."

"I remember you," said Hurst. He looked around. "Where's the rest of your company, sergeant?"

Gren shrugged. "I don't know. I was hoping you could tell us. We heard the retreat order on the vox. The whole battalion is scattered across the Spire."

"Stick with us then," said Merrick. "We're heading for Arminius Square. We can get you sorted when we get back to the line."

"Aye, sergeant major," agreed Gren. "There's no sense in us waiting around. Flinn, Mory, you're on point."

The two squads joined forces and continued to move north. A dark haired grenadier wandered among the 7th company troopers. "So, Flinn, was it? Name's Remer. That was some nice work back there. Have you bagged many culties yet?"

The younger trooper was visibly uncomfortable. "Can't say I have, sorry," he said shakily. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, it's hard to keep count with a grenade launcher," The grenadier hefted his launcher and inspected it fondly. He also carried a small flamer and multiple promethium tanks in his webbing. "I dunno, maybe seven? Nine? Honestly, I can't tell."

Vornas sighed. "Oh for Emperor's sake, leave the kid alone, idiot. Nobody cares how many dogs you've killed, so quit running your mouth."

Remer pretended to look hurt. "What? If I had to put a notch on this thing for every bug, dog, or greenskin I've bagged, all I'd have left is a metal toothpick. I'd say that says something."

Wadden had had enough. He snapped at the two bickering grenadiers. "Maybe, Remer, but nobody wants to hear it right now. Shut up, both of you, and keep your eyes open."

"Yes, sarge," grumbled Remer. Quietly, he added to Flinn, "Might be a good idea, though. You look like you need a hobby, kid."

"I thought I said shut it!" barked Hurst.

"Sorry, sir."

* * *

><p>Hive Urizen had descended into madness. As the Hounds' broadcast had spread across the Subsector, the Vendoland regiments stationed in Angel Hive had mobilized to attack their southern neighbor. General Castille, the commanding officer for the Vendoland Imperial Guard regiments, intended to repeat the success the 85th Vendoland had achieved during the struggle for Spire Legis. But what had started as a mobile sweep through the outlying hab spires had quickly dissolved into costly attacks against entrenched positions and deadly ambushes. Previously abandoned sections of the city suddenly filled with heretic masses, cutting off entire companies and throwing the regiments into disarray.<p>

The sheer numbers that the cultists had brought were overrunning checkpoints. The Daredevils were harassed the entire way back to the rendezvous point. The Hounds would resort to human wave tactics while the trained soldiers behind them continued to advance and fortify their positions. All Merrick's squad could do was flee in the face of overwhelming odds.

The street eventually opened up into Arminius Square. Guardsmen from the 4th company were dug in behind a line of sandbags and the low stone walls surrounding the central monument, an effigy carved in the likeness of a mighty Astartes warrior. The statue had been scarred and blasted in several spots, defiling the once noble image. Merrick vaulted over the low wall, followed closely by the rest of his men.

Commissar Connor was hard to miss. While troopers were taking cover, she was standing tall, shouting supplications and fearlessly firing her bolt pistol. "Your lives are already spent, make sure they were not done so in vain! If we are to die here, we do so standing."

The men fought on determinedly, inspired by her words and valor. Merrick found Captain Uther at her side, shouting furiously into a vox pack. "Attention all 4th Company members, pull back to Arminius Square! We're enacting a full retreat, I repeat, full retreat!" Uther looked up to see Merrick. "I'm glad you made it out sergeant major. Command has ordered the regiment to fall back to Capital Spire. Urizen is a lost cause."

Merrick nodded. "I'll get the men moving, any orders?"

"The 4th Company is to cover the 1st battalion's retreat. Regimental Command has already pulled the second and third battalions back. Once everyone is here, we leave."

"What about the PDF troopers? Are we just going to leave them?" asked Merrick.

"They are dead, Sergeant Major," said Connor bluntly, not taking her eyes off of the cultist horde bearing down on them. "We lost contact with their commander hours ago."

Merrick turned to look at the sight of the incoming Hounds. "I think we were the last ones back sir, we didn't see anyone but dogs behind us."

Uther nodded slowly. "Then we leave. Commissar, order the men to retreat. Sergeant Major, get the men loaded onto the Chimeras."

"Understood sir." Merrick stood up, waving the surviving guardsmen to Chimeras, idling on the main road out of the square. "Men, pack your gear and fall back! I repeat, we are falling back! Get to the transports, go!"

The transports opened their hatches and Merrick's squad boarded first, using the chimera's portholes to provide covering fire for the embarking soldiers. The 4th Company swiftly embarked, leaving the square to be overrun by the traitorous Hounds. Countless heretics poured into the clearing, chasing after the Imperials. The small convoy swiftly pulled back under heavy fire. The Vandis soldiery had their heavy guns trained on them, blasting away with autocannon shots.

The Hounds pursued them a while down the winding streets to the outer Habs, before finally giving up the chase. Merrick dropped into his seat, exhausted. Around him, men were all in various states of shock. Some were silently staring into nothingness. Others began to break down, crying into the arms of their friends and squad mates.

Merrick remained stolid for the sake of the men. Seeing the company Sergeant Major collapse now would be disastrous for morale. So he put on a brave face, even as he shook on the inside. The Imperial Guard had been picked apart effortlessly, playing right into the hands of the cultists. He patted a shaking guardsmen reassuringly, as much for the man as for himself. Staring out through the gun port, Merrick watched the vast hive dissolve into the abandoned industrial wasteland of the dead zone, dreading what might come next.

* * *

><p><strong>Two days later<strong>

Is this really everyone, thought Merrick. They had arrived on the borders of Angel Hive, near the edge of Golgotha Spire, it's southernmost district. It was the first time since the retreat that they had stopped, finally giving the exhausted guardsmen time to rest. By the time they had arrived at the rendezvous point, fewer than a third of their number that had escaped the Hive had made it. The rest were missing, or dead.

That number included most of their command staff. General Castille's transport was nowhere to be found, and neither was the entourage of priests, adjutants and scribes that regularly followed a regiment's headquarters. Only Lieutenant Colonel Banastre remained, and a handful of captains. He was already taking to calling himself General now, but to the rest of the regiment, his derogatory nickname "Lucky Bastard" was the only thing that stuck. The Vendolanders placed their trust in their captains instead.

Waste of flesh, that man, thought Merrick, as he and the rest of the squad piled ammunition crates and fuel into the back of a cargo truck. The Chimera that had safely ferried them here had finally run dry, and it's instruments were completely shot from wear and tear. They scuttled whatever they could, using local transportation to move their equipment now.

The remaining officers of the 85th Vendoland regiment were convening with their contemporaries among both the 46th Vendoland Armor and the 34th Vendoland Recon regiments. With their army commander, General Castille, presumed dead, it was up to them now to decide what course of action the Vendolanders would take to protect Meridian. Merrick was overseeing the company with Lieutenant Hunder until Captain Uther returned.

"What I don't get, is why they didn't just finish us off on the highway," said Remer, leaning against an ammunition crate. "You'd think that'd be obvious for them."

"Who knows why they did what they did," said Kippler, polishing his long las's focusing crystal. "Point is that they didn't follow us, and we're still alive."

"But doesn't that seem strange?" continued Remer. "They had us pinned right in the middle of the Hive, picking us off one by one, and then boom, they just let us ride off without a worry. That doesn't make you wonder?"

"You haven't noticed that half the regiment is dead?" remarked Vornas sarcastically. "Or that the PDF is basically frakked?"

"Look, all I'm saying is, we shouldn't be here right now. They let us go, and I don't like it."

Merrick stepped into the conversation, "Yeah well, neither do I, Remer. I'd love to think they just got bored, but this damned planet has taught me better. They're always toying with us."

"That's another thing that's been bothering me," said Remer. An audible sigh came over the men.

"Oh, something else?" said Vornas, deadpan. "Please, do tell."

"Well, we've been here, what? Six years? First, it was the Coalition War, right, back when the 203rd Regiment was still kicking around. That's where you and Alek were from, right boss?"

"Yep, stationed out of Typhon Primaris for about two years there," said Merrick. He blew a puff of smoke at Remer. "Your point, if there is one?"

"Well, after that, it was the bugs, those damned Tyranids," continued Remer. "And then the Chaos boys showed up last year. And now we're fighting the Dogs."

"Is there a point to all this?" said Kippler. The rest of the company bored enough to listen to Remer's rant piped up in agreement.

Remer stood up, looking right in Merrick's face. "My point is, we've been here for six years and nothing has changed. It's just one mess after another."

"Get on with it, private," said Merrick testily.

"When are we going home? If this is all we have to look forward to, getting our shit kicked in every year, why don't they just send us home?" For once, Remer wasn't his joking self. He was dead serious. The rest of the company was silent. Merrick knew they were all thinking the same thing. It had been years. More than he'd like to admit, he longed to return to Vendoland, and get out of this hellhole subsector. But every year made that goal seem that much further away.

"I haven't got an answer for that, Remer," he said. There was nothing he could say without lying to himself.

"I didn't think so." Remer's face was strained. Without saying another word, he walked off on his own. Merrick sighed, and went back to loading the trucks.

Captain Uther returned an hour later. He drew his officers and NCOs to him for a short briefing. "What's left of Command has come to a decision. Captain Lester and Captain Crassus will act as Battalion Majors. Colonel Banastre is acting as supreme commander for all remaining regiments. I know, it's not what you want to hear, but right now, he's the highest ranking officer we have left. We're being dispersed across Angel Hive to hold strategic locations. Sergeant Major."

Merrick stepped up. "Yes sir?"

"I'm giving you command of half the company. I need someone experienced and you're my top man. Lieutenants, you're good men, but young. Listen to Merrick and follow his example. You are to hold the Administratum Complex in Capital Spire until further notice. The 85th is being spread out across the Spire to keep supply lines open. 36th Recon will be stationed in Angel Forge, and the 46th Armored is covering the approach to Spire Legis.

We're in for a rough ride, gentlemen. I hope every one of you is ready for this. Keep your heads down, and keep your men alive, is that understood?" The officers nodded and muttered in agreement. "Very well then, as you were. Good luck men, Emperor watch over you."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hey everyone. If you haven't noticed, or if you are a new reader, this is an updated version of my first Merrick Story. I decided that it would be better to keep all of the short stories collected under one heading to make it easier for people to find the latest stories. I plan to move all my Merrick stories to this section in time.<p>

If you do not know, these shorts are related to Dark Eldar's Legacy of the Blood Ravens fanfic, which I definitely recommend to get a better bearing on the context of these stories. His fanfic can be found here.

s/7293543/1/Nothing_But_a_List_of_Names_to_Mark_Hi s_Ascension


	3. BTEW: Allies, Advisors and Admechs

**Chapter 2: Allies, Advisors, and Admechs**

***One Month Later***

Elliah Fayden could see little inside the dark troop hold of the Chimera. The dim lights turned normal faces into gaunt, pale corpses, masked in shadows. The vibrations of the engine ran up her legs and made her teeth chatter. Stifling and crowded, people bumped into each other as the vehicle trundled over the uneven ground.

Fayden turned around in her seat to look out the narrow firing port. The outside world was as grey on the surface as the clouds they had passed through during planetfall. Meridian, the crown planet of Subsector Aurelia, had so far failed to impress her. They had deployed directly in their transports, and she had yet to actually set foot on the new world.

She still remembered the day that the Imperium had come to Artemis. The great ships of the Imperial Navy had arrived over Madrigal, the planetary capital. They were collecting their tithe, men and women willing to serve the Imperial Guard. It was a chance to see the stars, and with nothing to go back to, Elliah had eagerly joined the ranks.

What followed was six months aboard a training vessel. It had been grueling work, whipping the farmers of Artemis into professional guardsmen. Those who washed out of the physical training were quickly reassigned to logistics and promptly forgotten. There was no place on the battlefield for them. She was PFC Elliah Fayden of the 31st Artemians, 6th Urban Brigade. She was ready for anything.

Not a week after their training had been completed, the 6th Urban had received their first orders: Aurelia, a remote subsector on the Easter Fringe. A series of recent campaigns had left the subsector weakened, and the Imperial Guard were being deployed en masse to put down insurrections and keep the peace.

The vox speaker broke the monotonous hum of the engines. "Attention all, this is General Derim. We are nearing our primary target, Capital Spire's Administratum Complex. Our objective remains: establish forward positions around the Governor's palace and make contact with Elena Derosa. We have had no contact from the 85th's Regimental Command, and we assume there is a communications blackout. Prepare to disembark."

Captain Melner spoke up, "All right, final weapons inspection, check your gear for any malfunctions or jams." The compartment lights brightened. Elliah lifted the casing's latch and split the lasgun apart. She made sure that the focusing crystal was properly aligned. Hotshot ammunition packs were powerful, but took a heavy toll on the gun's components. An improperly aligned crystal could wreck the weapon.

Satisfied that the battery connectors were free of dirt, she snapped the casing shut and locked the hotshot pack into the gun. The charge light turned green, indicating that the Accatran model lasgun was ready to fire.

The Chimera ground to a halt, and the back hatch opened. Captain Melner was first out of the vehicle, followed by the rest of the platoon. The 2nd Company disembarked from their vehicles and assembled in the street. Finally on the ground, the sight nearly overwhelmed Elliah.

Massive effigies of heroic looking men clad in mighty armour adorned the streets like lampposts. Over the side of the road, the Spire dropped off for hundreds of feet, intersected with dozens of crisscrossing paths, from narrow gantries and sidewalks, to enormous freeways, like the one Elliah was now standing on. She had to pull back from the edge as her head began to spin.

Sergeant Polris hefted his backpack over his shoulder. "Come on squad, let's not keep the General waiting. Looks like we're on foot from here on out. Anyone have any questions before we move?"

Corporal Ariana, a stocky woman a few years older than Elliah, stepped forward. "It's awfully quiet, sergeant," she said, looking around. "Was the spire swept before we arrived, or something? There's not a soul in sight."

"Our priority is to link up with the Vendolanders, corporal, not to look for civilians," said Polris. "They're probably all holed up inside these hab blocks. Until we get confirmation otherwise, treat this as a combat zone. Anything else? No? Then let's move. Jurek, you're on point."

The company set off on their march down the street. The Chimeras revved up and moved aside down the to allow the next wave to deploy. In the distance, the Governor's palace, the administratum complex, towered above the rest of the city. Capital Spire grew upwards, piercing the clouds at its highest levels. The top of the palace was obscured by the grey skies.

Elliah found Fenn and walked next to him. The two privates had struck up a friendship during training, and both had been assigned to Polris's squad. Fenneth Tov had a youthful handsomeness, and he wasn't afraid to show it. His skin was a few shades darker than Elliah's, like many of the Artemians recruited from the equatorial farm regions. He always had a smile on his face, and his confidence was inspiring.

"Can you actually believe the size of this place Fenn?" she asked.

"It's certainly a looker," Fenn said, looking around at the surrounding towers. "How far up do you think we are? You could fit all of Madrigal fifty times over in this spire, and it still wouldn't make up a fraction of the size."

Elliah smiled. "Well, the grain silos are nothing compared to this spire. This place is incredible."

"Hmmph, it won't look so incredible once the bolts start flying and we all get killed," Elliah and Fenn turned around to see Manrey following them. The other guardsmen gave him a wide berth. He wasn't quite right in the head.

"What makes you say that, Mad Dog?" Elliah asked dryly, already anticipating the answer.

"We're not here for the sightseeing. All nice and cosy on the surface, but when you get down to it, there's something nasty underneath everything. I've heard stories about the Imperial Guard you know. They say that a whole planet's worth of people go and fight for years and years, and never go home. Even heard some stories that when they're finished fighting, they go and kill off any of the survivors so there's no witnesses afterwards."

Elliah looked to Fenn, who rolled his eyes and kept on grinning. She said, "If you're so sure we'll never see home again, then why did you join at the founding? It's voluntary service."

He grunted. "Yeah, that's just what they want you to think."

"Whatever Manrey. Next time those big mean inquisitors you keep babbling about show up, you let me know," Elliah picked up the pace with Fenn, leaving Manrey further behind.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," muttered Manrey. "Blind idiots, all of you."

"Quiet back there!" Sergeant Polris barked. "Stay sharp, the Palace is just ahead. Look for the giant needle in the sky."

Fenn and Elliah smiled. It was a new experience to be sure, but life in the Guard couldn't possibly be as bad as the Mad Hound suggested.

* * *

><p>Merrick was sitting on the edge of a granite fountain, enjoying a moment of peace in an otherwise hellish existence. He dipped his hands into the fountain's basin and splashed his face, letting the cool water trickle down his grime covered skin. Even with the overcast skies, the muggy air was stifling. Across the palace gardens, Merrick's detachment of the 4th company sought shade from the oppressive weather.<p>

Hurst and Kippler sat nearby. Hurst lay with his back against the fountain, grabbing a few minutes rest. Kippler was set on the pavement, disassembling and reassembling his long las. He'd grown very fond of the weapon, and cared for it as a mother would care for her child. The man had an almost unnatural sense of accuracy, easily one of the best shots Merrick had seen.

It had been quiet lately. Upon their return to Angel Hive, the Vendolanders had taken up their positions to defend the capital. The Vandis cultists mounted occasional raids, but there had been nothing near the scale of the previous attacks on Capital Spire. Still, the traitors took their toll on the guardsmen, and the regiment's limited numbers prevented them from effectively rooting out the enemy cells.

They were effectively under siege. The planetary defense force and the adeptus arbites were occupied with another round of food riots among the populace. The crusades had stripped much of Meridian's wealth and resources, and rampant piracy had slowed imports from the Typhon and Calderis systems to a trickle. Capital Spire was on its own. The guardsmen were simply delaying the inevitable at this point.

Hurst prodded him in the shoulder. Wadden was staring down the street leading to the palace. He heard the rumble first, a low hum that grew steadily louder. Across the twin suspension bridges that crossed the gap between the palace and the city proper, an army was approaching.

Merrick was on his feet in seconds, strapping his Hellgun's backpack onto his shoulders. "Shit, I didn't think the dogs would try a direct attack. Hurst, warn the rest of the men. We've got company." Kippler had no time to reassemble his weapon. Instead, he took the gun's scope and pressed it to his eye.

"They're not flying the Vandis colors, sergeant," said Kippler. He adjusted his scope to focus more sharply. A thin smile appeared on Soras's face. "I see the Aquila, sir. They're Imperials.

"What?" said Merrick, surprised. "We've had no contact with anyone off planet for weeks. Are you sure?"

"Do these eyes lie, sir?" said Kippler. "They're Guard, look for yourself, sarge."

Hurst took Kippler's scope to see for himself, then passed it to Merrick. "Looks like reinforcements have arrived. About time."

"Thank Emperor for that," Merrick said. The tension built up inside him deflated and was replaced with palpable relief.. This was the first good news they had had in a long time. "Waddy, go round up everyone you can. Let's make our guests welcome. See if you can find Remer and get him to help you."

"I'm on it. You can go greet them for us. But try to be nice. Not every Commissar is like Connor, you could get your head shot off." Hurst set off at a jog, heading for a cluster of soldiers set up further back towards the command center. Kippler finished assembling his long las and followed Merrick towards the oncoming column of tanks.

* * *

><p>The Leman Russ tanks leading the column shared a drab blue grey camouflage pattern. The lead vehicle ground to a halt in front of him. The turret hatch swung open, and an officer with General's markings climbed out. He had a finely combed moustache and a large scar across his chin. A receding hairline and squinting eyes gave the man a permanent scowl, which he leveled at Merrick and Kippler.<p>

Arms behind his back, the general spoke with aristocratic pomp, much to Merrick's annoyance. Always with the formalities. "I am Brigadier General Tullassar Derim, Artemian 31st Regiment, 6th Urban Brigade. We are here to aid in the pacification of Meridian and her fellow planets within the subsector."

Merrick saluted, "Sergeant Major Merrick, 85th Vendoland, 4th Grenadiers Company sir."

"At ease, sergeant major," said Derim with a wave of his hand. "Where is your commanding officer? I wish like to speak with him as soon as possible."

Merrick hesitated for a moment before responding, "That would be me, sir. I am in charge of the detachment guarding Governor Derosa."

"You are in charge?" said Derim, surprised. The general stepped down from his tank to stand face to face with Merrick."Where are your captain, sergeant major?"

"The regiment is spread out across Capital Spire, sir. We're too few to cover the entire region, so Colonel Banastre had us spread out to defend strategic locations across the spire."

"We've been in transit for a month. It seems my forces require an update on the situation. We expected the majority of the 85th to be on the frontlines."

Merrick chuckled despite himself. "Sir, Capital Spire _is_ the frontline. The 85th is about a third of what it used to be. What we've cobbled together here is all that's left of the Imperial Guard forces on Meridian. Until you showed up that is."

The general was disappointed. He sighed, "Very well, sergeant major, I will have my men spread out to reinforce your positions. Personally, I wish to see Governor Derosa. Perhaps she may give my army a better view of the situation."

Merrick smiled wryly. "Certainly general. Might I interest you in some of the local attractions?" Merrick gestured to a half crumbled statue. "Over there is what's left of a monument to the Blood Ravens for their defence of Angel Gate two years ago. Of course, back then it still had its head and it wasn't covered in bolter holes, and when Angel Forge actually _worked._"

Tullassar looked exasperated. "The Forge is gone, too?"

Merrick shrugged as they walked back to the complex, the tank column following behind. "So far, yes. The techpriests have been trying to revive it, but they have had little success. The Chaos forces must have put a curse on the manufactorum."

"An under strength regiment and a ruined forge," said the General. "It seems we have our work cut out for us, Sergeant Major."

"Certainly sir, I'm sure this will be quite the partnership!"

"I don't share your sense of humor, sergeant major," Tullassar muttered."This is my battlefield now, Merrick. I expect you to defer to my command, is that understood?"

Kippler, silent through the entire conversation, spoke up. "Well, technically, sir, in lieu of a proper chain of command between two disparate regiments, overall command falls to the Planetary Governor. Derosa is the de facto leader until proper lines can be established."

Merrick grinned and gave Kippler a quick wink. "That's right, General. So let's play nice, shall we? We need each other."

"Don't push your luck, Sergeant Major," said Tullassar, glaring. "The Governor will hear of your insubordination."

Rolling his eyes, Merrick led onwards. "Yes, I'm sure she will."

* * *

><p>At the steps of Capital Spire's administrative offices, Hurst had assembled Daredevil Squad. They weren't many, but they were some of the hardest fighters in the company. Remer was passing the time balancing a helmet on his bayonet. Hurst looked at him. "You know, you get more out of those things if you wear them. Whose is that anyways? It's obviously not yours."<p>

"Eh, I found it," said Remer. Spinning the helmet around on the tip of the bayonet, it suddenly spun off and clattered on the ground. Vornas huffed, amused at his friend's clumsiness.

"Where did you find it?" pressed Hurst.

Remer shrugged. "I don't know, I just picked it up."

"Never mind," said Hurst with a sigh. He noticed the column begin to move once more. He straightened up. "All right, men, let's look sharp for our guests. Either use it or lose it, Remer."

"Right, sarge." Remer not too discretely kicked the helmet away. Feigning innocence, he and Vornas shared a chuckle while Alek just rolled his eyes and tried to at least look professional.

General Derim passed by the 4th company soldiers without so much as a nod. "Your men are not much to look at, sergeant major. They could stand to learn some discipline."

For their part, the Vendolanders weren't really trying to impress anyone. Merrick kept that to himself, but he didn't let the general's comments on discipline pass him by. "Sir, with all due respect, we are eighty men against hundreds, if not thousands. We didn't know you were coming, so you'll forgive us if we haven't washed and put our best dress uniforms on to mark the occasion."

General Castille had been so similar to Derim. All the bluster of an aristocrat, and none of the respect and pragmatism needed to win over his troops. Derim turned on Merrick, glowering under his brimmed cap. "Watch your tone, sergeant major."

Hurst, sensing trouble, quickly marched towards Merrick and the General's with the Daredevils in tow. Unlike the others, it looked like Hurst had taken the time to polish his armour plates. They shone brightly in the midday sun. Coming to a halt, he snapped off a perfect salute, which Tullassar responded with immediately. "Sergeant Hurst, sir. Welcome to Capitol Spire."

Tullassar seemed impressed with "At ease soldier," The general sneered at Merrick. "Perhaps your men may have manners where you do not. Sergeant Hurst, I wish to speak with Governor Derosa immediately. You will escort my retinue as well. They're useless mostly, but they handle the small things letting me focus on the big picture."

Hurst nodded, "Of course, General. Squad, fall in. Remer, Alek, you take the front, Vornas, take the rear."

"I'll take the back with Vornas, Hurst," offered Merrick. "You and the General seem like you have much to talk about." Merrick smirked, quickly hiding it when the General whipped his gaze towards him.

The general's retinue caught up with them, an eclectic group of oddities and functionaries, minded over by a hawkish man and a stocky Commissar with a dark smile. Derim spoke to the tall officer, "Colonel Nolt, take over exterior operations whilst I am inside." Have the brigade reinforce the outer defensive lines, set the flares for supply drops. Contact me on Priority Vox Channel Primaris if anything happens. May the Emperor guide your footsteps Colonel."

The tall, lanky colonel saluted, making the sign of the Aquila before leading the officers to their posts. At his orders, they dispersed in a hustle. Merrick watched them go, envious. The officer's departure left the group with the Command retainers. The actual soldiers and leaders were off to do the fighting, leaving them with the fat slobs who somehow hung to the command roster like leeches. He shook his head and fell into line beside Vornas.

"So Vornas, what do you think of our new guests? " he asked.

"It looks like the fat one's chin is trying to swallow his mouth." said Vornas dryly.

"They look like a bunch of arrogant pricks to me," he muttered. "Though, that Nolt fellow, he seems smart. My money's on the colonel. If this general turns out to be another washout, I'm sure he'll be the one to watch."

"Well aren't you a cynic today, sarge."

Merrick grinned, "You know me, Vornas. I can't stand pompous jackasses. He'll have to impress me first."

Vornas thought for a moment, his face impossible to read under the scar tissue and burn marks, "He seems like any other general, boss. He's proud, educated, pampered, and blissfully unaware of his soldier's needs. You know the kind, the regular flavour of arrogance that always crops up in the command staff. Hopefully he'll last longer than Castille did."

"Anyone would be better than that fracking moron." said Merrick sharply. "For once, I wish we had a proper leader. It's no wonder we're losing ground out here, half the officers are insane. Did I ever tell you about what it was like back in the 203rd, when it was just Alek and I? Our sergeant was a psychopath. He had us shooting up civilians. There was no skin off my back when he dropped dead. Served the bastard right."

"Got that right boss." laughed Vornas. "Sergeant Hurst seems to like him anyways." Vornas pointed at the pair. Hurst and the General were having an animated conversation.

Merrick spoke, "Yep, with any luck, that'll keep us in his good books for a while. Let the aristocrats talk, and let the career soldiers do the fighting."

"You don't think Hurst is a good fighter, eh?" said Vornas, surprised.

"I'm not saying that Hurst isn't a good fighter, Borik, but don't you ever get tired of listening to him sometimes when we're off duty?"

Vornas shrugged. "I tend to block out conversations when we're on break, boss. You try listening to Remer's theories. Maybe we should stick him on this General someday." They both chuckled, envisioning Remer trying to talk to Derim about his ideas.

* * *

><p>The doors to the Administratum headquarters were old, huge, and creaked like the hinges hadn't been oiled in centuries. It wouldn't surprise Merrick if that were true. Groaning, they slowly opened before the group. The general's entourage stepped inside and entered an entirely different world.<p>

Unlike the abandoned boulevards outside, the massive hall was packed with workers, refugees, and officials. Scribes were diligently trying to organize lengthy relocation charts, Arbites officers were on guard detail to keep the refugees in line, and the refugees were shouting about ration shortages. It was times like this that Merrick enjoyed the quiet outside world. The noise was unbearable.

They had to push through the crowd to reach the far side of the hall. There, Hurst summoned the lift. Merrick felt the ground shift as the elevator ascended and quickly gained speed, zooming towards the top level of the Spire, where Governor Derosa's office overlooked the entire hive.

Light broke upon the glass windows of the lift, revealing the full expanse of the Capital Spire as the lift sped up the side of the tower. Peering below, Merrick could barely make out the shapes of the new troops. They were little more than specks, and rapidly growing smaller. Above the cloud line, Angel Hive's spires appeared as golden towers piercing the grey cover, and the sun shone brighter than ever.

Up here, it was easy to forget the troubles of the world. For all its beauty, Capital Spire was one of the last bastions of Imperial order left on Meridian. Angel Hive stood contested, with the blackened, corrupted Spire Legis sitting ominously in the south, encircled by great fires where the House Vandis insurgents had razed parts of the Hive.

The dull monotone of a servitor broke the silence. "Level 1500, Administratum command center, Governor's chambers. Please stand back as the doors open."

Scribes worked steadily behind their large, wooden desks. The special sound dampening devices built into the wall kept noise to a minimum, but also gave the floor an air of stuffiness. The quiet alone was enough to satisfy Merrick and the Daredevils. He respected Derosa too much to complain, she had a good head on her shoulders, and her heart was in the right place. That alone was more than he could say for the planet's nobles.

Passing through an oak doorframe, the group entered Derosa's office. Two lurching gun servitors flanked the doorway, multi meltas and heavy bolters trained on Merrick's men. He groaned inwards, if gun servitors were here, then the Magos must have dropped by with more complaints. Sure enough, there was the techpriest, adorned in a red robe, cybernetic augmentations gleaming in the golden sunlight. He and the governor were in another heated argument.

"Governor, I do not understand why you persist in hampering my recovery efforts! This is a very delicate matter, one that only I am qualified to undertake!"

Derosa set both hands on her desk and stared down the priest."Dolthem, as I have stated numerous times already, we are in no condition to mount an excursion to the outer reaches of Angel Forge! My top priority goes to maintaining the vital functions of the Hive and keeping the Manufactorum District from being used as a staging ground. The 85th is already stretched thin enough holding off the Ork raiders and Heretic cells without you demanding aid as well. It is your responsibility to get the Forge back online, not the Guard's."

"Pah, it is easy for you to say that from behind your desk, Governor," spat the Magos. "You say that you want your forge repaired one day, and then deny me the means to do so the next!"

"Oh, and in what way does the repair work require armed soldiers, Magos?" said Derosa pointedly.

"For security purposes, madam."

Merrick couldn't help but grin at the way Derosa leapt upon the Magos's poor word choice. "And for that purpose, Dolthem, you have your Skitarii. I see no reason to divert resources to supplement what you already have. The answer is no." Derosa noticed Merrick and the others at the door. "Now if you please, I have an appointment. Show yourself out."

Dolthem turned to view the new arrivals. His left optics cluster lit up. Merrick felt uneasy as the harsh light stared at him. "What is this then, Governor? You claim to have no further personnel to provide me, and yet here stand fresh subjects! Are they unavailable as well? Do not think you can overlook the servants of the Omnissiah. I shall have my expedition plans settled, one way or another."

Derosa snapped, "And when you do, I will be sure to congratulate you for such a rousing success. However, I haven't the time or the patience to listen to your ramblings any longer. You may show yourself out."

The AdMech stopped in the doorway, his optics glaring back at the Governor. "We shall speak again on this matter, Governor." he said coldly, voice tinged by the metal respirator fused into his skin. The gun servitors followed their leader out of the office, slamming the wooden doors behind them.

The governor leaned backwards in her high backed chair and sighed. "You must be General Derim. Elena Derosa, Governor of Meridian and liaison to the Administratum. I apologize for my attitude with the Magos, general. The Adepts have been pestering me for days insisting I authorize a dig team to aid them in some excavation along the outskirts of Angel Forge. Management here is not what it used to be."

Derosa offered her hand. Tullassar bowed and accepted the handshake, "You needn't worry yourself, Governor. I have four thousand fighting men at your disposal. We're here to put things back on schedule."

"I shall be glad to have them. It has been some time since the Guard has been reinforced. The Vendolanders have had their hands full, to say nothing of the Arbites Precincts and the Planetary Defense Forces"

Merrick saluted smartly. "It is our duty to serve, ma'am. No Hound will get by us."

"And for that I am deeply grateful, Sergeant Major, your services to the Subsector are admirable." She smiled at Merrick, who gave her a quick wink.

Tullassar butted forward. "There appears to be a lack of security for your office, Governor. I can have a Stormtrooper detachment assigned to you for protection within the hour."

"That won't be necessary, General," said Derosa, shaking her head. "I have learned not to trust others with my personal protection, even the Guard. It nearly cost me my life once. I don't make mistakes twice."

"Then how do you plan on defending yourself, Governor?" said Tullassar skeptically.

"I have my methods." she said letting the words hang. "Shall we sit? I assure you, they are far more comfortable than a cramped troop carrier." She motioned to the large, open air room behind her desk, lined with luxurious chairs and couches.

It was Hurst's and Merrick's job to talk to the higher ups, so the other Daredevils wandered off to the veranda while the officials got to business. The group seated themselves on Derosa's large couches. She looked like she hadn't slept for days, noted Merrick. Her eyes still had that fiery determination in them, but she was looking more and more drawn every time he saw her.

"Very well, General, I shall tell you what I can." She snapped her fingers. A thin figure in a deep blue robe appeared out of the dark recesses of her office, carrying a small metal box engraved with the Aquila. "My adept can provide the current tactical data you require, General. I can provide you with a summation."

One of the General's retinue cleared his throat to speak. He was a portly man, wearing a scribe's uniform that seemed three sizes too small, and he had a thin mustache and a double chin adorning his sweaty face. "Governor, do you think it wise that we have this discussion in the open? We are on the edge of a warzone, in the open air. Would you not rather have this conversation indoors where it is safe? As a woman, I am sure that you would rather be closer to your-"

Derosa cut him off. "I can assure you good sir, that we are perfectly safe here. The void shield installed in the building is strong enough to withstand orbital bombardments. It is strong enough to keep the traitors at bay.' Her tone was hard and confident. "Capital Spire is the safest place in Angel Hive at the moment. We are housing millions of refugees. Do you seriously think that I would have this assembly meet here if I was not certain of our safety?

The blubbery familiar was subdued. "Y-yes, of course your grace. I... apologize for my brashness."

"Good. But if you feel threatened by the smell of fresh air, feel free to make use of the scribe's quarters. I'm sure they would be more suited to one of your office. Until then, do not feel the need to pass comments on matters you do not understand."

Incensed, the scribe tried to stand, but he was caught in his midsection by a sharp strike from the General's stick. Tullassar looked at the man with disgust, forcing him back into the seat with merely a stare. "I apologize for Zerick, my chief scribe is not well versed in social etiquette. Apparently I have yet to break him of his habits. Now, you had information to discuss with me Governor?"

"Yes General. You should be aware of the delicate position we are in at the moment. Ever since the Black Legion attack last year, we have been dealing with an ever growing number of cults and uprisings. My predecessor, Gregor Vandis, currently holds sway over most of the major cults, and has been pushing to take back Capital Spire for months. Most of their forces are limited to Urizen Hive in the south, but we have faced numerous raids within Angel Hive regardless."

"We thought that we had regained control of Spire Legis last year during a protracted assault," explained Hurst. "But the minute we pulled out, the insurgents just rose up again. We lack the numbers to keep Legis under control. What's left of the 46th has been on watch if they make any major pushes, but it's a holding action at best."

"And then there's Urizen Hive, further south," said Merrick. "General Castille thought that the 85th would be able to establish control over the Hive if we took Urizen's main spire. Cut off the head and watch the rest crumble. Cost us two thirds of the Regiment, as well as most of the officers. We're running with skeleton command structures, with NCOs like me covering until replacements can be found."

General Derim listened intently as they continued. He hadn't asked any questions yet, but he was sucking up information like a sponge.

"Unfortunately, there have been setbacks, some small, others unacceptable," said Derosa. "We lost control of Angel Forge due to a corrupting virus planted by the Black Legion. I've had repair crews and Mechanicus aid working for months to try and get the Forge back online, but some individuals seem more interested in exploiting the abandoned foundries for their own ends. The Forge is little more than a glorified barracks for the remaining Guard forces."

Tullassar scratched his chin. "I see, governor. And how do you wish to combat this threat? What resources do we still control?"

Derosa motioned for her adept to set the box on the table in front of them. The box opened, revealing a three dimensional projection of the Capital Spire. Several lines of data scrolled down the side of the image, statistics covering electrical outputs, crime rates, food shortages, and other information relevant to the Spire's operational status.

"As of last month's report, we currently control seventy five percent of Angel Hive," said Derosa, pointing to a particular data strand. The appropriate visuals glowed orange to indicate their position on the map. "Much of the upper city has been cleansed, but the Hounds have managed to entrench themselves in the underground tunnels connecting the outer hab blocks and other Spires. The manpower shortage has made it impossible to mount a significant offensive against their outposts."

"Not that we're in any position to actually do anything about their strongholds." said Merrick, cutting in. "If I may, ma'am? The 85th Vendoland is a write off at this point. We have maybe thirteen hundred soldiers to cover the whole damn Hive. We're spread too thin, we can't find their base, but they can't break out lines."

"Indeed," scoffed the General. "Yes, I'm sure you all must have stories to tell. It is unimportant, Sergeant Major. My men will see to your problems soon enough."

One of the General's aides, a man as thin as Zerick was round, leaned forward in his seat. "Governor, what should happen if the Administratum complex is attacked? How well prepared are we to withstand an assault?"

Derosa spoke. "As I said, the spire is surrounded by a number of void shields, and we have a full contingent of Arbites stationed here. Nothing short of a Titan's weaponry can break through our defenses. Only a fool would attack us directly."

"The problem is," muttered Merrick quietly, "I'm not sure the hounds are smart enough to know that."


	4. BTEW: The Dog Bites Back

**Chapter 3: The Dog Bites Back**

Far below Capital Spire's gleaming boulevards and lush gardens, the splendour swiftly eroded into grime, rust, the glowing sunlight changing to harsh service lamps, and wide streets became dark alcoves.. Down here, society and human decency had degraded into a level more fitting for vermin. The gutter rats scavenged while the hive gangers plundered. Down here, only the strong survived for very long. But even the hardiest hive gangers scattered at the sound of marching footsteps. It could only be one of two things, neither of which agreed with the social food chain.

A band of guardsmen picked their way through the refuse strewn pathways. They were Vendolanders, their green armour emblazoned with the 85th Regiment's colours. The smart ones knew to leave the imperials alone. The idiots lasted seconds. These were men who had fought hand to hand with Tyranids and come out standing.

Motioning for the group to stop, Sergeant Gren climbed the scrap pile to where their spotter stood, eyes glued to his binoculars. A sliver of sky broke the dark metal ceiling. The trooper passed his binoculars to Gren.

"Looks to be less than two hundred meters up, sir," said corporal Kreyn. "I reckon we just need to find a service elevator and we can get back to the surface."

"It will be nice to see the sun again," said Gren. They had been down here a week, making the long trek from Angel Forge. The subway tram they had been riding on had crashed, leaving the men walking through the dangerous underground warrens. It had cost them some good men.

"Do you think the message made it through to the Governor?" asked Flinn. "Did reinforcements actually arrive?"

"I don't know, lad," said Gren. "But we will deliver the message anyways, with or without a vox blackout. Come on, men, it's just a short while longer. Let's be ready to greet our visitors."

* * *

><p>Once the lift was out of sight, the gutter rats poured out of the woodwork. A runner, no older than ten, darted from cover to cover, sticking to the shadows. A few turns, a couple ladders and drops, and he vanished into the dark bowels of the spire. The service lamps offered enough light to see, but not enough to stop him from running into the man's back.<p>

The man, if he could be considered that, grabbed the child roughly and lifted him to eye level. The skin of his face had been flayed off, and his eyes were buried under layers of cataracts. "What do you want, runt?" it growled. "The Eye isn't to be disturbed, especially not by little shits like yourself."

"Bu-but, I was told to tell him if I saw anything!" stammered the runner. "Please! He told me himself!"

"Oh did he now?" said the man, mockingly. "Well, then, that changes everything, doesn't it? Do you honestly expect me to believe something like that, runt? Even I'm not allowed to see The Eyes. He doesn't see anyone who isn't a Hound. You're not even shit worth stepping in. Stop wasting my time. He didn't send for you."

"As a matter of fact, I did."

The guard felt a shiver run down his spine, his blood turning to ice in seconds. He dropped the child, his hands too shaken to hold him. The child scrambled backwards as black tendrils struck out of the darkness, enveloping the man and lifting him off the ground. Heavy, metallic footsteps echoed from the dark. A pair of glowing red pupils were all the child could see of The Eye. "And, if I might add, his information is worth more to my cause than your pathetic excuse for security."

Before the man could scream, his neck was snapped by the tendrils, and he was tossed aside. "I grow tired of waiting in these shadows, whelp. What can you tell me? Stand where I can see you. That's better. Now speak, or join him in death. I am sure the body count shall rise soon enough."

The boy glanced nervously at the twitching corpse. "It's ready, my lord. Please, don't kill me, please. I, I also saw more of the Imperials moving through the city."

The Eye's expression was hidden in shadow, but his glare shone brightly. "They've reconnected with their allies at the Forge then?"

"I don't think so. It was just one group, no more than twenty or so. They said something about more coming, from off world."

"It is no consequence, retch, it just means more for us to kill. You said everything was ready? Then we must strike now. I will have Derosa's head before that fool Zephus. Tell your rabble to move, I shall ready the Hounds. By the day's end, Meridian will have her old Governor returned. And you will have your life back, child. All of you."

* * *

><p>Up top, Elliah and Fenn were leaning against a sandbag wall at the far end of the palace boulevards. Polris was on the vox with Captain Melner, while Manrey just stared out across the cityscape. Valkyrie contrails arced across the sky, trailing after their hosts as they funneled supplies down from the <em>Gregorian<em>, still holding over the city, and casting a welcoming shade. For a spire so high off the ground, it was surprisingly warm.

A brown parcel landed in her lap. Roland and Jurek hopped into the emplacement, tossing more packages at Fenn and Manrey. "Come on, eat up. Like the Primer says: 'Do not waste what the Emperor provides.' Or something along those lines, right?"

Fenn shifted his helmet further down over his eyes. "Couldn't tell you," he said flatly. "I lost interest about halfway through and started drawing pictures."

Roland laughed. "I certainly hope it wasn't on the page you were told not to write on," He and Jurek peeled open their parcels. "It's spiced grox. Some local recipe, I think."

"Where did you get this stuff?" said Elliah, cutting a piece with her knife.

"We 'liberated' it from a storehouse," Roland said, smirking. "I consider it spoils of war.

Fenn pushed his helmet further down his nose. "It's too hot up here," he complained "We're what, two miles up? I thought it'd be cooler. I feel like I'm running a grain harvester during the dry season."

"Apparently, it's something to do with the heat distribution," said Roland between bites. "This void shield's generator kicks up a lot of heat and then it gets caught inside the barrier. The refugees told me they usually vent it once a day to keep everything bearable. If you think it's bad up here, apparently in the lower levels can get so hot that the exhaust can melt rockcrete."

"Well then, install a couple bloody air conditioners, or put us in the Hab building over there. Why should we sit out here in the sun waiting for people to start shooting at us?"

"They're going to vent in a few minutes, stop complaining."

A loud creaking sound interrupted the argument. All the Artemians swung their rifles around to the disturbance. An old, rickety service elevator built into the Hab building rose out of the metal girders. The Guardsmen trained their rifles on the doors, waiting. The elevator opened, revealing around twenty men in Vendolander colours. Both sides dropped their aim when they noticed the Imperial Eagle.

The group of Vendolanders approached hesitantly. One stepped forward. "Corporal Kreyn, 85th Vendoland, 7th Company. Identify yourselves."

Polris spoke. "Sergeant Polris, 31st Artemian, 1st Battalion. We're here to help."

"Well, I'm glad someone's here, at least. This is Sergeant Heris Gren, our NCO. We're looking for the Sergeant Major."

"He should be back at the complex, Corporal," said Polris. "You probably know your way around better than we do. Why didn't you radio in?"

Gren approached Polris. "Vox silence, Colonel's orders. How long have you been here?"

"A few hours," said Polris. "We've got the whole area covered. It should be safe to walk around here."

"Heh, on Meridian, nowhere is safe," said Gren, grinning. "Kreyn, take the rest of the squad ahead. Flinn and I will catch up. I want to go over some things with Polris here."

Kreyn nodded. "If you say so sir, just don't take too long. Men, move out." The Vendolanders marched off down the boulevard towards the complex's tower.

* * *

><p>The rafters and gantries shuddered from the passing footsteps. The light was growing brighter, finding more spaces to bleed through the spire's metal skin. The upper levels were close now. Behind the gutter rat, the multitudes of vermin rose through the tunnels and chasms, writhing towards the surface like a boil bursting through pallid flesh.<p>

A cargo lift was up ahead, guarded by a pair of PDF troopers. They didn't last long. The gutter rat looked back to the others, the ragged, the hungry, the desperate, the enslaved. No longer, the Eye would let them go, give them their world back. His promise, his word, he wouldn't go back on it now.

As the lift rose, the boy looked through the metal gate at the passing levels. Just below the street, he could see them at work, black and gold armored warriors, their arms filled with explosives. The Hounds of Vandis themselves were here to help.

Two of Polris's troopers had returned with more ammunition. Gren watched while Flinn hesitantly tried to speak with them.

"He does seem persistent, sergeant," said Roland.

Gren shrugged. "Ah, he'll learn. He's like a son to me. I'll watch out for him and my boys, but some things he needs to learn on his own."

"Like how to talk to women?"

"Precisely," said Gren. He looked the Artemians up and down. "You're new to this, aren't you? I can tell if a regiment is on its first deployment. Your armour is still clean, for one thing. And you carry yourselves differently. You almost seem too optimistic."

Roland shifted forward. "You're suggesting we be miserable instead?"

"No, nothing of the sort, lad, I'm just saying that it's easy to tell you are new bloods. Give it time and a few life or death struggles and you'll understand what I mean."

"If you say so," said Roland, but the doubt was clear in his voice. Gren slapped him on the back before rising up. He nodded towards Sergeant Polris and started to leave.

"Come on Flinn, you can try your luck at the Bunker later. Kreyn's getting away from us." Flinn blushed as he hastily said goodbye to Ariana and Enalya, darting after Gren as he walked away.

They hadn't made it ten feet before the explosion struck. The two Vendolanders were thrown off their feet by the blast. Several more explosions ripped up the street, engulfing Kreyn and the others.

Elliah instinctively ducked. Autogun fire ripped through the dust choked air. She was soon aware of her hands moving, instinctively switching off the Lasgun's safety catch and bringing it up into a firing position. Roland and Fenn had done the same, while Jurek had hopped on the Heavy Bolter and was scanning for targets.

Making a mad dash for the squad, Gren and Flinn dived over the sandbags. Gren landed hard beside Roland, already bringing his lasgun up over the rim, firing into the distance. "Heads down, guns up, and be ready to move!" he shouted, immediately taking control of the group.

Screams could be heard above the gunfire. Thick, white smoke cascaded along the streets like a wave of water, swiftly passing over them. Polris swore, tossing his vox speaker aside. "The damned line is dead! Some sort of interference. I can't get through to command. We have to call this one in." Dozens of figures were starting to move through the clouds, firing erratically as they rushed towards the Guard lines.

"Sergeant, they'll know soon enough," said Gren, firing more shots into the cloud. "The Hounds drop smoke bombs before a charge. Start shooting!" Several figures moving through the fog dropped to the barrage of fire from the lasguns and the heavy bolter. Inhuman wails rose above the sound of the shots as the horde swarmed past them. They weren't stopping, but they weren't targeting them either.

Elliah and Flinn continued pouring shots into the crowd. They weren't soldiers, she realized. Just a mob, armed with whatever they could get their hands on. They were cut down by the dozens, but there were hundreds more backing them up. Enalya shouted that the vox caster was working again. Reports were flooding in, all repeating the same thing: hordes of cultists, charging into Guard positions and sweeping towards the central complex.

Colonel Nolt's voice erupted from the speaker. "Attention, 1st Battalion, fall back to secondary positions at checkpoints Primaris, Secundus and Tertius! 2nd Battalion units, move forward to reinforce and provide covering fire. Outer defenses, fall back to checkpoints, I repeat, fall back to checkpoints!"

"Death to the usurpers!" cried the cultists. "For the glory of House Vandis, for our freedom!"

Sneering at the cultists, Gren leveled his gun. He dropped a half dozen more cultists as they dropped into the trench, finishing off the last with his bayonet. He pointed to the Hab block hugging the sidewalk of the boulevard. "We'll have more cover inside, and we can filter them into choke points as we work our way back. Go by pairs, we'll cover! Go!"

Elliah and Jurek broke for the entry as the rest of the squad unleashed volleys of dissuading las fire at the cultists. She kept her head down and ran as fast as she could for the entrance, willing herself to go faster with every step. The sound of autogun rounds whizzing past her frayed her nerves, but she somehow made it across the open stretch unscathed. Jurek slammed into the wall beside her.

The rest of the group followed, quickly jumping through the open hatchway, their footsteps trailed by gunfire. Gren threw Flinn through the door just before he dived through. "Shut it now!" he shouted. Roland quickly hit the door panel, and the heavy metal hatchway sealed shut. The dark skinned man then took his bayonet and jammed it into the controls.

"That should keep it shut, for now." he said.

Flinn shook his head. "Not for long. We've got to keep moving. If the dogs have somehow gotten inside the Void Shield, a door won't stop them."

"We take things one step at a time, lad," said Gren. "We regroup at the checkpoint and go from there."

"Well, what are we waiting for then, old man?" shouted Fenn. "They'll find another way in."

"Show some respect, private," snapped Polris, "He's right, Sergeant. They'll dog our footsteps all the way back to the checkpoint unless we deal with them now. Any ideas?"

Gren looked around the entry hatch. A smile grew across his weathered face. "Give me all your grenades, explosives, anything that will make a bang. Here, Flinn, you take half." Taking a melta charge, Gren slapped the device onto the hatch, running a wire from the busted access console to the charge. "You'll learn a few tricks fighting the dogs. Funny thing is, they never learned how to counter their own traps. Head inside, Flinn and I'll catch up."

Further inside, the Artemians entered a large foyer. A balcony overlooked the ground floor, which was dominated by a large wooden desk, covered with artificier systems. A lone servitor, long forgotten, continued to type on the broken consoles, unaware of the guardsmen's appearance. Gren and Flinn jogged up behind them.

"Ah perfect," said Gren, eying the servitor. "Flinn, toss me a melta will you? Thanks. Get the bombs planted around the doorway, will you? Sergeant Polris, get your troopers into position on the balcony."

Polris nodded. "Understood, Roland, Elliah, top center, Fenn and I will take the left stairwell. Ariana, Enalya, flank the doors, Jurek and Manrey, provide cover from the desk."

Two minutes later, everything was set. Elliah peered over the balcony railing. There was a muffled banging noise, followed by a loud bang. Gren's first booby trap must have gone off. The cultists would be here in moments. She tensed, gripping her lasgun tighter as she waited. Shouting voices grew louder. "Get that door open, whelp! Your lives aren't worth the rags you're wearing! If there's another bomb, you shits will take it, not us!"

Behind the desk, Gren glanced over at Jurek and Manrey. It was typical Hound behaviour, sending the cultists in to sweep for explosives and take the brunt of the killing. The Hounds would follow up and clean house. Gren hoped that their little traps would be enough to hold them off.

Bang. The doors were blown open, and a dozen ragged cultists stormed into the room. Boom, the first bomb, hidden beneath a pile of trash was activated by the ignorant dogs tripping the wire. Three cultist troops were shredded by the frag grenade bundle. Then all hell broke loose. Flinn and Gren, hidden behind the desk, grabbed hold of the servitor and lifted the protesting construct into the air, tossing it into the crowd of disorganized Cultists, still reeling from the blast.

Boom. The servitor detonated, the melta pack turning the construct into a superhot projectile. Another two cultists were vaporized by the intense heat. The Artemians finally opened fire. The Cultists were torn apart in seconds, failing to get a shot off before the Guardsmen picked them off. There was a brief respite. Then, the Hounds charged. Caught unaware by their speed, Ariana and Enalya were killed before they had a chance to shoot. The black carapace armoured troops lobbed a flurry of grenades into the room.

The explosives splintered the desk, leaving the four soldiers exposed to the traitors. "Covering fire! Troopers, fall back." shouted Polris. The troopers on the balcony opened up, forcing the Hounds to dive for whatever shelter they could gather. Jurek and Manrey obliged Polris's order, but Gren and Flinn had something different in mind. Elliah watched the two run at the Hounds. What are they doing, she thought.

Gren body slammed his target into the wall. Taking the stock of his lasgun, he bashed in the dog's faceplate before shooting him in the chest point blank. One of the remaining three Vandis dogs turned his aim towards the two Vendoland troops, but before he could get off a shot, his body was filled with lasgun punctures from Roland's precise shooting. The other two were swiftly dispatched by shots from Jurek and Fenn. The entire engagement had lasted twenty seconds. Flinn looked through the doorway. "It's clear. No more hostiles."

Polris sighed in relief. "Report, who have we lost?"

Jurek checked the two downed soldiers. He looked up, shaking his head. "Ariana and Enalya are dead, sir. Two down, the rest walking."

Polris looked downtrodden. "I see. Corporal, mark their loss in the charts. Grab what you can off them." The Artemians nodded and began to gather the equipment off their fallen comrades. Gren gave Polris a sympathetic look, and put a hand on his shoulder plate.

"Don't think it gets any easier," he said quietly. "It never does."

* * *

><p>Merrick was on his feet with his Hellgun trained on the door the moment the alarm klaxon began wailing. The meeting with Derosa and Tullassar's retinue felt like it had gone on forever, and the alarm had come as a shock.<p>

"What is that noise?" asked Zerick nervously. The fat scribe was somehow soaked in sweat despite the cold air system keeping the room at a refreshing temperature. "Are we under attack? I thought you said we were safe, Governor!" he wailed.

The rest of the Daredevils followed Merrick's lead, taking cover behind furniture and aiming their weapons towards the entrance as well.

"We have a perimeter breach, scribe," answered Wadden, "anything gets inside the building without clearance, the whole system goes off."

"But that means they could be here at any moment! We have to move somewhere safe. A panic room, an underground bunker, anything! Why don't you-" Zerick received a swift smack by General Derim, knocking the rotund man to the floor.

"Zerick, perhaps we should send you first. I'm sure your incessant blubbering will draw their attention away from the high value targets." Tullassar turned to Derosa. "With your leave, madam, I should like to deal with this matter."

Derosa agreed. "Indeed, General. Good luck and Emperor be with you." The governor looked at the General's retinue. "I shall take you to my safe room, gentlemen. Follow me."

Merrick smiled at the general. "I may just come to like you yet sir."

"Don't push your luck sergeant major. You are just as disposable as the rest." retorted Tullassar. "My Commissar shall stay behind to ensure you and the retinue remain safe, Governor."

"I understand, General." nodded Derosa, before turning to Merrick. "Sergeant Merrick, ensure the safety of the Spire."

"With pleasure ma'am, we'll do our best, like always. Daredevils, move out! We'll clear this building room by room if we have to!"

Tullassar brandished an ornate bolt pistol and a power sabre. Flanking either side of the door, the Daredevils, activated the access panel, and rushed into the room. No hostiles, but several whimpering scribes, cowering beneath their desks. Moving swiftly, Merrick's troops and Tullassar worked their way through the level finding no signs of any Vandis traitors.

Merrick activated his vox channel. "Ma'am, this is Sergeant Merrick. This level is clear. We're going to scour the lower floors."

"Understood Sergeant, proceed with caution," responded Derosa. "General, your Colonel has sent out a distress signal. A large cultist force is engaging your forces along the Capital Gardens. I've put the Arbites forces on full alert. They will aide your sweeps."

"Governor, if you have a vox link to Colonel Nolt, tell him I want a two companies inside on the double, clearing floors upwards. We will meet in the middle."

A moment passed. Derosa spoke, "Message sent General. I will patch Colonel Nolt through to you personally so he may keep you updated."

"Thank you, Governor. Sergeant Major, proceed. We have wasted enough time on this flor already." Derim strode towards the elevator bank. Merrick might have had faith in Derosa's ability to keep building functions operational, but he was still hesitant to step into a metal box during a crisis when there were perfectly good stairs. But then the thought of clearing out fifteen hundred levels diving deep into the underhive stairwell by stairwell made the decision for him. The Daredevils piled into the lift, beginning their long sweeps.

Over the complex's vox speakers, Derosa's emergency message was being played over the sound of the alarm klaxon. ATTENTION, ALL IMPERIAL PERSONNEL. HOUSE VANDIS SOLDIERS HAVE BREACHED THE COMPLEX. ENGAGE AND DESTROY ALL HOSTILES. I REPEAT, ENGAGE AND DESTROY ALL HOSTILES. No point in trying to surprise the dogs, thought Merrick.

The Administratum Complex tapered into the Governor's tower, the top fifty floors far more narrow than the lower levels where the Hounds had no doubt made their strikes. Several teams of arbiters had already scoured the floors before Merrick and the squad had arrived. After confirming that the tower was clear, the Daredevils, bolstered by teams of arbiters, descended into the main complex.

_Hell, it'll take days to cover the whole damn building at this rate. _The Administratum Complex went deep into the ground of Meridian. Only the top floors were on the Capital Spire's "surface".

The Arbitrator Captain introduced himself as Talros. He had fifty arbiters fitted with riot gear and heavy suppression shields. "We are honored to fight alongside the Guard this day," said Talros. "Those that have sided with House Vandis will know the full penalty of Imperial Law before this is done. We shall assist in whatever ways we can."

The lift slowed to a stop, groaning under the weight of its passengers. When the doors opened to level 1312, the arbiters formed a shield wall and stormed the clearing, Merrick's Daredevils close behind.

* * *

><p>The gutter rat curled up against a destroyed wall and tried to block out the pain. The noise was unbearable, but the blood was worse. He sat there cradling the stump where his left leg had been. Around him, hundreds of corpses littered the streets and gardens of the Captital, more joining the growing pile every moment.<p>

They had made swift progress at first. The Hounds' explosive handiwork had torn up the streets underneath the Imperials' outer lines, and they Vandis loyalists had surged over the Guardsmen's defenses like a wave. It was all going just like The Eye had said. They could win back their freedom, Imperial reinforcements or not.

Then they had reached the actual Guard forces. The oppressors had dug in and had torn apart the first wave of Vandis supporters in seconds. The boy had been caught on the edge of a mortar strike, costing him his leg. The child grimaced, biting his lip until it bled as he tried to hold back from screaming. They would find him then, and kill him. He had to stay quiet, wait for more loyalists... try again. They would be free.

* * *

><p>"Where's Kreyn? Corporal, are you here?" called Gren. He grabbed a passing Artemian. "Have you seen any Vendolanders, son?" The trooper shook his head. Gren grunted and let him go.<p>

"Sarge, they're not here," said Flinn, looking left and right.

"I can see that lad!" barked Gren. "They should be here, that's the problem!"

The two Vendolanders had made it to Checkpoint Primaris, one of the three major focal points where they were funneling the cultists into concentrated Imperial defenses. The Artemians had erected heavy barricades along the boulevards, backed up by several Chimeras serving as mobile bunkers. But there was no sight of Gren's group.

Roland and Fenn jogged up to him. Roland handed him a printed vox report. "The vox casters managed to get through to the other Vendoland squads with the codes you gave us. The ones covering the gardens and the southern approach haven't seen them, Gren."

Gren crumpled the report and tossed it aside. "Check them again. They have to be somewhere."

Roland and Fenn shared a glance. "We'll get on it, sir." said Roland at last. Gren crossed his arms, pacing back and forth. Polris sighed and approached Gren. The man was seething, giving Polris pause.

"Sergeant?" he said. "Sergeant, you should consider the notion that they were killed."

Polris realized his mistake just before Gren's fist struck his chin. Gren advanced on him as he recoiled, jabbing a thick finger into Polris's face.

"Don't you lecture me about my boys, new blood!" said Gren. "You keep your little meat shields in line and maybe they'll live. My boys have been with me for two years. They know how to look after themselves. If they aren't here, it's because somebody messed up. It's my responsibility, not yours. So go play soldier, and let me handle my own squad."

"Is this how you handle it then?" snapped Polris. "You just spout out advice to the new guy, but you don't bother to listen to it yourself? I just lost two soldiers today, and I'm dealing with it better than you seem to be."

Gren gave Polris a look of pure ice. Flinn took a few steps back. "You listen to me, Polris," he said, his face contorted. "You and your troops will last a week at most. Those that survive, they'll last a month. My squad has lasted for two years. You don't last two years on the frontline without growing some skin. I'd trade a hundred of your lot for just one vet from the Tyrannic War. You last that long, and then come back and tell me they 'might' be dead."

Polris stared at the older man, then turned and walked away without a word. Gren unclipped his helmet and ran a hand through his wet hair. He tossed the helmet aside and slumped to the ground. Unsure what to do, Flinn opened his mouth to speak, but Gren raised his hand.

"Get out of here, lad," said Gren, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just... just go. They need all the rifles they can get." Flinn gave Gren a pleading look. Gren ignored it and shouted at him. "Go! Get moving, private, that's an order!" Gren's head hung low, trapped in thought, trapped in guilt. He had failed.

* * *

><p>Level 1312 was a large, open air veranda flanked by a wide balcony that swung around the lower clearing. The floor itself was a garden, filled with exotic, and in at least one case, lethal, flora from neighbouring Typhon Primaris. Dozens of refugees had taken shelter among the plants. The Cultists were bolstered by Vandis Hounds themselves. The Arbites had rushed into the clearing with their riot shields while the Daredevils snapped off shots at the insurgents. Merrick split the squad into their fireteams and took his group along the left balcony, Tullassar following close behind.<p>

Around two dozen Vandis troops had set up on the far side of the balcony, their heavy bolter chugging while they fired into the refugees and arbites below. Dozens more swarmed across the clearing, stabbing and slashing at the Imperials with makeshift clubs. Talros's Arbiters took cover behind whatever they could find, shielding the civilians behind their large shields. They could handle the cultists, but the Hounds would be a problem. The heavy bolter had to go, or the Arbiters would be cut apart.

Hurst's fireteam crept along the balcony towards the gun, while Merrick drew their attention from the other side. He had Vornas lob a couple grenades into the cultist mass, while he and Alek took potshots at the Hounds. Tullassar fired his bolt pistol over the railing, smiling when he heard the scream of the round's victim. "I hope you know what you are doing, Sergeant. I don't think I can summon a tank from behind a park bench, and our odds are rather slim."

"Hurst knows what he's doing, General," said Merrick between shots. "As long as the Hounds are shooting at us, they aren't paying attention to _him._ They'll take care of it."

There was an explosion. Merrick peered over the railing to see Remer whooping like an idiot and setting distance records for cultist tossing. "Or, they could all be blown up by a blithering jackass," Merrick muttered to himself. The General just sighed. Remer and Hurst were mopping up the remains of the gun crew, while Kippler had turned his focus to the ringleaders of the cultists below.

"For Vendoland and the Emperor!" shouted Merrick. The Daredevils fired volleys into the cultists. Talros had managed to pull the refugees behind his Arbitors, and they formed a shield wall, perforated with bolters. The heretics began to scatter, getting cut down by the sheer volume of gunfire. Vornas lobbed a grenade into a clump of cultists, taking half a dozen in the explosion.

"How do you like that you frakking bastards!" shouted Vornas gleefully. "Did I miss any of you? Here, have another!"

"Hey, Vornas, it almost sounds like you're having fun," said Remer over the vox. "Did the cogboys do something to your brain while you were asleep?"

"Shut it, Remer." said Hurst. "Focus your mouth on the cultists. I doubt they have a defense against weaponized bullshit."

Hurst sighed. Despite his best efforts, Vornas and Remer were like two overactive hunting dogs, always eager to fight, or in this case, cause major property damage. Remer's antics had already set fire to the balcony. Merrick popped two dogs in the back while they fled. The traitors were scrambling to get to the stairs, away from the one-sided fight and further into the bowels of the complex.

Merrick pulled down his rangefinder, scanning what was left of the Hounds below. He found the target instantly. Covered in black and gold armor, the Hound looked like a Black Legionnaire wannabe. He had to be the one leading the cultists. They were all flocking towards him as he broke for a service door. They made a convenient screen from the Arbiters.

But not from Merrick."Soras, you're up," he said. Kippler fired, catching the spiky traitor in the head as he dove for the doors. The shot splattered the contents of the dog's helmet across the clean walls of the atrium. "Nice shot Soras."

"My pleasure boss."

"But Sarge, he missed one," laughed Remer. "Second to the left, fancy bandolier. Bet you can't hit him, Sor."

Kippler glanced sideways at Remer before calmly turning and snapping off another heretic's head with a perfect shot. "You were saying?"

Remer either didn't hear Kippler over the sound of gunshots, or he was too wrapped up in trying to break as many things as possible. Merrick opted to assume the latter. Seeing the contents of their leader's skull painted across the wall, the remaining Vandis troops fled into the side passage. They would easily be boxed in now. Talros's men moved to pursue them, and the Daredevils regrouped catching their breath. General Derim's hand was to his ear, listening intently to his vox bead. He nodded and switched off the feed, turning to Merrick.

"A well executed manoeuvre, sergeant major. Though your grenadiers soldiers could stand to learn some discipline." he said, eyeing Vornas and Remer arguing behind Merrick. "Still, we have a job to finish. Our forces will be adequate to secure the compound. Colonel Nolt says that the exterior attack has been rebuffed. I suggest we proceed.

"Yes sir, General." said Merrick. "All right boys, let's hope they've rolled out the welcome mat!"

The heretics had sealed the door behind them. The Arbiters were setting breach charges when Merrick's squad met them by the service hatch. Something seemed strange, however. It was too quiet, not like the lull after a battle, where you adjusted to normal sounds, but like an absence of sound altogether. The breach charges blasting the door open sounded distinctly muffled, and a faint but steady ringing was filling Merrick's ears. Something was wrong.

When they rushed into the room, he saw why.

"Oh hell," said Merrick. "Hurst, get Tullassar in here now."

"I thought they had all left," said Remer uneasily. "You think one of them might have stayed behind?"

"I didn't think they'd have stuck around after that thrashing they took, but there's all the evidence we need Lenham." said Kippler. "What do you think boss?"

"I _think_ we should wait for the General to have a look at this."


	5. BTEW: Into the Undergound

**Duel in the Darkness**

"Right, what just happened?" thought Fenn aloud. The cultist's guns had suddenly stopped. The smoke that had hindered the Artemians vision was receding, and with it, all traces of the enemy. During the fighting, they'd heard the screams of pain, and witnessed the explosions that had downed dozens of hounds. Where bodies should have lain slain, there was nothing, not even a trace of blood. It was as if the dogs hadn't been there at all.

"Beats me," said Roland, shouldering his lasgun. "I didn't think a disappearing act was one of the traitor's talents."

Elliah checked the charge on her Lasgun, just to be on the safe side. The street had fallen deathly quiet, the only sound being the confused murmurs of the Guard, poking out of their barricade. Captain Melner was on the vox with command. The other barricades had reported the same thing, no sign of the Vandis heretics anywhere. .

Lieutenant Berk, Melner's second in command, exited the command tent and approached sergeant Polris. "Colonel wants to see you, sergeant, and the two Vendolanders as well. Don't keep him waiting."

Flinn tapped Gren on the shoulder. Gren said nothing, but he shrugged and stood up to follow the Artemians. His face was set in stone, his eyes dead, emotionless. He was simply moving through the motions. A truck dropped them off at the base of the governor's palace, where the Artemians had set up their command center. Berk ushered the trio inside.

The Colonel was a man in his mid-thirties. His dark hair was slicked back, and it made his eerily pale face seem even whiter than it already was. But the thing that caught Flinn and Gren's attention was his flaring green eyes, sunken into his face. They were the eyes of a predator, fierce and ambitious. Dangerous. His speech was terse, to the point and blunt. "Where did you encounter the Vandis force, sergeant?"

Polris gripped his helmet at his side, and spoke. "We were on the outer perimeter when it happened. The heretics collapsed a section of the street with explosives and came out of the lower levels."

"And you two," Nolt said, pointing to Gren and Flinn, "What were you doing that far out?"

Gren just stared at Colonel Nolt. Growing angry, Nolt asked again. "I asked you a question, soldier. Answer it."

Gren still said nothing, meeting Nolt's anger with a blank face. Flinn spoke up. "Sir, if I may?"

Nolt turned his glare on Flinn. "By all means, private. Speak."

"With the 85th stretched as far as it is, finding safe routes and maintaining lines of communication has been a priority. Our squad was en route to the palace to relay a message to sergeant major Merrick. We had just arrived moments before the attack came."

"Without noticing that you were followed?" remarked Nolt. "It seems that the reputation of the Vendoland regiments has been the subject of exaggeration. I expected better from the so called 'Survivors of Sicarus'.

Gren snapped to life, slamming his fist down on the Colonel's table. Nolt remained unfazed, but he didn't stop the sergeant. "You fucking bastard!" he shouted. "You _dare_ to accuse me, accuse Flinn here, of leading the Hounds back to ambush you?"

"Give me a reason to think otherwise, sergeant," said Nolt testily. "Your future might depend on it."

Gren's face was as red as Mars. "Well, first off, maybe you should try listening to your own man over here," he said, pointing to Polris. "He just told you that the Hounds used explosives to collapse the street and allow them surface access. You don't set up something like that overnight. My men just spent the last two weeks making the trek here from Angel Forge. But you wouldn't know that, would you?"

Gren was on the verge of tears, angrily pressing on. "In the past two years, we have lived through hell you can't imagine, Colonel. I have seen men torn limb from limb by Tyranids. I have watched friends crushed by Eldar death spinners. I have even seen people turn their guns on themselves rather than face another day in this hellhole of a subsector! But I have never seen a Vendolander turn on his comrades, or intentionally bring harm to his allies. We're better than that."

Nolt considered this. Eventually he spoke. "My regiment may be new to war, sergeant, but I am not. It is in my blood. I _can_ imagine the horrors you've seen, I've seen them myself. That does not change the fact that you _were_ at the site of their initial attack."

"And what of it?" sneered Gren. "That is reason enough to interrogate us like this?"

"There are always reasons, soldier. However, your point regarding their preparations is valid. As it stands, I've no grounds to hold you on, apart from insubordination. But that is your regiment's jurisdiction, not mine. Luckily for you, your trigger discipline is better than your temper."

Nolt indicated slightly behind him. Flinn glanced there and noticed the Commissar standing silently in the corner, brandishing his laspistol, waiting for a signal that never came. The colonel stood up and went face to face with Gren. "Honesty is a rare trait, sergeant. And I am sure that sergeant Polris here is grateful for your intervention. You may leave. But before you do, I have to tell you: had you not been entirely honest with me, you would have ended that little scene five minutes ago in a matter of seconds. Keep that in mind the next time we meet."

Gren barely turned his head back to Nolt as he stepped outside. "To be honest sir, we've seen enough crazy shit around here that it pays to tell the truth. Something you should keep in mind before you go accusing someone of being something he isn't."

* * *

><p>Inside the Administratum Complex, the main foyer was a mess. Arbiter Captain Talros's had his hands full organizing a triage for the wounded. Hundreds of people had been injured or killed in the attack, with the death toll rising steadily. The aide teams were struggling to keep up. Merrick and Hurst oversaw the chaos from the balcony above.<p>

"So, the Black Legion is still here, and we've had attacks on the inside of the defensive line," said Hurst with a sigh. "They're getting bolder Merrick. And if they've got a Sorcerer leading them, we could be seeing another Spire Legis."

Hurst took his helmet off and ran a hand through his short, blond hair. Most of the men had started growing it back, but Merrick had opted to stay shaven. It had never grown properly since his stint on Typhon Primaris, anyways.

"Well then, I suppose we'll just have to roll out the welcome mat, Wadden?" joked Merrick half-heartedly. "Wouldn't want their pauldrons to get itchy waiting for us, now would we?"

"You know, Merrick, one day I wish you could be something other than cynical or sarcastic," said Hurst. "Be serious, perhaps? Aren't you worried by the idea that the Archenemy is here?"

"I guess Remer's been rubbing off on me," admitted Merrick, grinning.

Hurst looked at him hard. "He's an optimist, Merrick. There's a difference between being irritatingly cheerful, and irritatingly cynical. You probably could stand to let him rub off on you, if it will get you out of this slump."

The elevator bank behind them opened up, and out stepped Governor Derosa and Tullassar's retinue. Merrick and Hurst nodded as she approached. She was straight to business. "We've found the entrance they used to enter the complex." The Governor explained, "The Hounds of Vandis forced their way through the maintenance levels, near the water recycling system. The Artemian's psykers confirmed that they were being aided by an Astartes Sorcerer, as you and your men discovered."

Merrick crossed his arms, "I thought you said that the Void Shield was covering the whole spire. How did they get past it in the first place?"

"We are currently reviewing the details, sergeant major, but I promise that you will be the first to know." There was a mutual respect between Merrick and Derosa, but her look informed him that he wouldn't actually find out, so he decided to drop the subject.

"Indeed," said Tullassar. "We should mount an immediate attack to root them out of their tunnels, gentlemen. I shall provide as many troops as I can muster. However, I would request that your men join us. The 85th Vendoland understands the workings of Meridian better than I, and you would make valuable scouts and tactical advisors."

Merrick cocked an eyebrow. "So now we're showing you where to stick your Basilisks?" Hurst sharply nudged Merrick, who quickly added, "sir?"

"In a sense, yes sergeant major. I will see to it that Colonel Nolt relinquishes the 2nd Company from perimeter duty. Have your men ready in half an hour." Derim nodded to the pair and set off without another word, his dignitaries and aides trailing behind him. Derosa gave them a curt nod and returned to her office, leaving them alone once again.

"I don't suppose I get a vote in this, do I?" muttered Merrick.

"No, you don't."

"Right."

* * *

><p>"That's a nice model Lasgun you've got there. Accatran carbine is it? Good close quarter weapon. <em>And <em> hotshot rounds. Never used them ourselves, but they'll be perfect for this job. Sure is some fancy kit you have. Here you go." The bald sergeant offered Elliah's gun back to her. His name was Merrick. Like Gren and Flinn, he looked like he'd seen his fair share of combat already.

The palace armory was large enough to equip the Artemian's entire brigade twice over. The 2nd company occupied only a small corner of the vast room. A handful of Vendoland soldiers under Merrick's command were joining them for the operation. They were all hard men, their faces worn by years of combat.

"I thought I should mention," said Flinn, sidling up beside Merrick. "We met someone looking for you, sergeant major. Gren was outside when the cultists attacked."

"Where is he now?" demanded Merrick. "Did he say what he was carrying?"

Flinn shook his head. "He didn't say. It was for your eyes only. His squad was caught up in an explosion. Only he and Flinn made it out. He's pretty broken up about it."

Damn, thought Merrick. He sighed, crestfallen. "He can tell me about it later at the Bunker. After today, I think we could all use a drink."

There was a loud clanging noise. Hurst was banging on the side of a carapace plate like a makeshift bell. "Listen up, all you new people!" Hurst barked. "I am Sergeant Wadden Hurst of the 85th Vendoland. General Derim has assigned us to be your guides for this operation. The Vandis heretics broke in, and we're going to root them out.

"It is a maze of tunnels down there," Hurst continued. "It'll be close quarters fighting, so we've been issued flamers. I want at least one flame trooper on point for every squad. Any questions before we start?"

One of the Artemians raised his hand. "Won't the flamers give away our position to the Hounds sir?"

"These tunnels are tight, soldier. If you see something ahead of you, don't hesitate to fire. The Hounds are smart, so expect ambushes."

"Understood sir." said the trooper, satisfied.

"Any other questions?" asked Hurst. "No? Then let's move out! Break into your squads and follow me."

The room burst into movement, troopers moving to their assigned squads. Sergeant Polris was waiting with the rest of their group when Elliah and Fenn arrived. "Right, you heard the man."

* * *

><p>It was pitch black in the lower levels. Power was limited outside of the spire's vital zones. Why that included the maintenance levels was beyond Merrick. The only thing lighting their way were the flamers ahead and the occasional spot lamp. The short bursts of fire periodically illuminated the dark corridors, casting an orange glow across the decaying walls.<p>

"Keep close. We haven't encountered any Hounds yet, but an attack could come at any moment." said Hurst over the vox. "According to the maps, we should be entering a larger chamber up ahead. We'll spread out there."

The news came as a relief to the guardsmen. The two hundred strong company had been reduced to an awkward shuffle as they pushed deeper into the water recycling center. Ten minutes later, the Company reached the open chamber. Faint light from strategically placed mirrors above cast the room in an eerie green glow. Multiple passages stretched out in each direction. It would take hours to scour the tunnels.

Hurst handed his chart table to Merrick. The hololith display of the recycling facility showed they were in one of the maintenance hubs for the tunnels. Hurst pointed to one of the tunnels. "This one intersects at a second chamber here," he said. "They circle around one of the storage tank warehouses. That just so happens to have a direct link to the surface, just by the edge of the Lake Aradine reservoir. It's perfect for moving large numbers of troops from the undercity."

"Right, and then from there, it could let them spread throughout the upper spire," surmised Merrick. "That would also explain how they could attack inside and out at the same time. But that also means we could be facing a lot more cultists than we thought."

Hurst looked grim. "Well," he sighed. "If we can identify them at least, then we can get word back to command, and they can collapse this place from above."

"With us in it."

Hurst ignored the comment. "It's about fifteen hundred meters east, Merrick. We can split into two groups to take the warehouse from both sides."

"Sounds right. Let's get them ready." Merrick turned to the company. "Okay, we're going to split into two teams. Half and half, one group goes with me, the other with Hurst. We converge on the enemy in the center. Remer, Alek, you're with me, Kippler and Vornas are with Hurst. Everyone else, fall in.

The dogs probably have themselves dug in around one of the storage tank warehouses. It'll be open, but I fully expect them to be waiting for us. Flamers and Meltas in the front, and don't be shy with grenades. Any traitor loving dog you see gets a bolt through the eyes, got it? Let's move."

Merrick's night vision goggles really helped with the darkness. The Artemians were stuck with flashlights and flamers, but there was little he could do about it. Ahead, the dripping passageway opened up, allowing the detachment to fan out. Underneath their feet, the sound of running water told Merrick they were getting close.

"So Alek, looks like you've got a new one." said Remer, eyeing Alek's hand. "Where'd you pick up this latest cut?"

"Surgeon's knife," said Alek. "slashed my palm."

"A cut like that, what would you say, two weeks?"

"Two seconds if you don't shut up." said Merrick. Remer had started the squad's trend of treating every supposedly fatal injury that Alek survived as another year they'd live. So far, they were up to ten. "You can compare later. Eyes forward."

Hurst's voice came over the vox. "Merrick, we managed to pull up some more floor plans for the old waterways. You should be coming up to one of the storage tanks if the plans are accurate. It'll be on your right."

Water sloshed under their feet as they continued. "Getting wet here, Hurst. I'd say you're right. It's also getting brighter up ahead. The water's green." The water flowing along the side of the walkway had a faint green glow to it. It was throwing off a surprising amount of light.

"Hmm, must have been a chemical leak somewhere," said Hurst. "I wouldn't touch it, it's probably flammable. Emperor knows what toxins it could release if ignited."

"Roger that Hurst, keep me posted." He turned to the troopers following him. "Spread out. We've got more room and more light. No sense in us huddling together waiting for a grenade to drop."

He raised his hellgun, flanked by Remer and Alek. Behind him, the Artemians split into their fire teams. They rounded the corner on their right. There should have been a doorway there, leading into the warehouse. Instead, there was a large, gaping hole, scarred black from an explosion.

"I like what they've done with the place boss." whispered Remer. "A bit much, but the black trim is quite nice."

"Shut it, Remer. Everyone, on three." Merrick, Alek and Remer planted themselves on either side of the former doorway. "One, two, three!"

The Daredevils moved as one continuous motion. Remer fired his grenade launcher while Alek's hellgun spat death. Merrick, covered by the pair, led the charge into the room. A sharp crack responded to their entry. Merrick was caught in the chest by a las bolt, blasting him off his feet.

* * *

><p>The room suddenly was illuminated by lasgun fire. Elliah instinctively ducked as the lasers pierced through the air around her. Beside her, Roland had yanked Fenn down onto the slimy, wet surface of the floor. She dropped down beside them, bringing her gun up into a firing position.<p>

The Hounds had come out from behind the water tanks. The moment after Sergeant Merrick had dropped, dozens of the black armoured fiends rose from their hiding spots, gunning down the Artemians as they desperately rushed for cover. Several Artemians were killed instantly. The rest gathered together and started firing back at the cultists.

"Flamers to the front!" yelled Polris. Manrey and Jurek brought their heavy weapons forward, spraying thick gouts of flame into the cultists. Four hounds were caught in the flames, their flesh melting into their armour. One of the men, still aflame, ran towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs. Elliah filled the man with shot after shot, but he kept running.

Polris pulled out his bayonet, attaching it to his carbine. The burning man leapt at the sergeant. Polris dropped to his knee and braced the gun against his chest, pointing upwards. The Hound was skewered on the sergeant's spike. The cultist flailed his burning arms, trying to grasp at Polris's face. Polris pushed the man aside, ripping his mask off as he did. He immediately wished he hadn't.

There was no face underneath, just a swirling mass of flesh that bled and pulsated. A gaping maw with sharp teeth emerged from the horrible swirling chaos, and latched onto Polris' head. Elliah could only watch while the Hound mauled her sergeant. Polris' screams were muffled as the Hound swallowed his head, lifting the man off the ground with the bayonet still embedded in its chest.

The stunned Guardsmen looked on in terror as the mutated heretic lifted Polris's writing body into the air, blood spewing from its mouth.

"What are you waiting for?" snarled Manrey. "Shoot the blasted thing! Kill it now!"

The Artemians poured las fire into the flaming hellspawn. Polris was dead, and the beast would soon turn to them. Elliah managed to shear its left leg from the body, dropping the Hound to the ground. The rest of the group pummelled its remains with shot after shot, until the monster lay motionless.

Merrick was on his side, breathing heavily. He felt a stinging pain in his chest where the shot had impacted. Looking up, he saw Alek crouching over him. "Just stay still sir! I can fix this!" the boy shouted, admirably calm under fire. Remer was covering them, lobbing grenade after grenade into the traitors, punctuating each shot with an insult.

"You'll pay for shooting the Boss, you bastards!" he roared. One, two, three grenades exploded, tearing through the traitors in the open. "Maybe your didn't hear me, I know it's hard! Do try to keep up!"

Merrick winced, holding his side. It hurt to speak. "Alek, I can wait. Get on the line with Hurst, where the hell is he!?"

Alek looked terrified, but he did what he was told. He pulled the vox speaker from his pack and shouted into the grill. "Hurst, we have enemy contact! I repeat, we have enemy contact! Merrick is down! We're pinned here!"

The screaming Hounds mixed with the explosions of grenades and the piercing shriek of las fire, echoing through the tunnels. There seemed to be no end to the cultist troops, all while more Artemians kept dropping. The guardsmen were barely keeping their foothold in the chamber from being overrun. Merrick rolled onto his back, fighting down the pain.

A barely perceptible hum filled his ears. The noise of battle started to ebb away, being replaced again by that muffled silence from earlier that day. Both sides ceased firing. Somewhere nearby, laughter started. A hissing, metallic laughter filled with contempt, and growing ever louder. A voice spoke, piercing every soldier's mind.

"Pathetic, loyalists. Truly pathetic. To think, we were nearly pushed from this world mere months ago by the likes of _you._ Is this truly the greatest that the False Emperor can muster? No Blood Ravens will come to save you this time, fools. You are alone, and I am your end."

Elliah ripped her helmet off, and pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the voice. It ripped at her mind, tearing at her sanity even as she struggled to block it out. Others were doing the same, ripping off their helmets and crying in agony. The voice uttered that horrible laugh again.

"Oh, it is futile trying to ignore me, fools. Your minds are my playthings, your souls are my currency_._ What say you, followers? Should I make an example for their masters?" The hounds jeered and whooped, emboldened by the voice that filled the room.

A swirling purple mist emerged from the vents above, crackling with the energy of the Warp. From it emerged a massive figure, clad in robes with arcane heraldry, and wearing demonic armour adorned with the Eight Pointed Star. The Chaos Sorcerer exited the Warp portal, and looked across the chamber with a sadistic smile.

"My my, to think that weaklings such as yourself could best my brethren, let alone that fool Vandis's rabble." he said in a sickeningly patronizing tone. "I suppose your punishment should be more fitting of your stature than just a quick death, wouldn't you agree?"

The Sorcerer walked amidst the carnage, lifting screaming guardsmen into the air on tendrils of fire as he passed. "Know that I am Crowley, Sorcerer of the Black Legion. We were once two, now I am one, and stronger for it. Strength endures, weakness is expunged, as I am sure you have been taught. Allow me to continue your 'education'."

Merrick struggled to look up, still clutching the hole in his armour to stop the bleeding. It was those eyes. He remembered the eyes. That Sorcerer from Spire Legis. Those flaming red eyes were unmistakeable. It was him, still alive. Crowley stopped, staring down at him.

"You recognize me, whelp?" said the Sorcerer mockingly. "You wear the colours of those who drove us aside. Perhaps I recognize you as well." The flaming tendrils wrapped around Merrick, lifting him up to face the Sorcerer. His arms were pulled apart, his wound bleeding freely.

"Such courage, to look me in the eyes. Most turn aside rather than face me. But not you, it seems. So disrespectful. I should fix that. Perhaps I will burn those eyes from your skull. Does that seem like an appropriate punishment for one who would look at me without fear?".

The mutants hollered their enthusiastic response. Remer and Alek looked on helplessly while the Sorcerer toyed with Merrick. Merrick grunted as the tendrils squeezed tighter, forcing the air out of his lungs. Crowley chuckled. "You heard them, whelp. Time to burn." Merrick spat in the marine's face. The Sorcerer's smile turned into a mask of rage. "I'll make sure it is slow."

Merrick found himself staring into two glowing red holes as the Sorcerer's energy made the air swirl and crackle around them. A deep, rumbling laughter filled his ears, thousands of sick and twisted voices joining in an unholy chorus. The sound resonated in his head. He couldn't shut his eyes. He wouldn't give the Sorcerer the satisfaction. If this was to be his death, he'd face it without faltering. Merrick met the traitor's face with a steely glare.

"Gaze into oblivion."

CRACK.

* * *

><p>Merrick hit the ground with a thud. Above, Crowley was stumbling backwards. A massive hole had been carved into his forehead, spilling that flaming red light like blood. A terrible roar erupted from the sorcerer's lips, a mixture of pain and rage.<p>

CRACK.

This time, Merrick saw the shot, and recognized the noise. It was the sound of a Long Las Rifle, firing at full power. The bolt hit Crowley at a forty five degree angle, slicing his neck. Merrick looked up. Kippler was set up on one of the gantries overlooking the warehouse floor, loading a new energy cell into his gun. Hurst, Vornas, and a hundred Artemians burst into the room behind the hounds, lasguns firing on full auto.

The noise in the guardsmen's minds dropped away, and the survivors from Merrick's group resumed the fight. Elliah stumbled upright, pulling other troopers to their feet. Roland was shouting orders. "Cover the wounded! Get up come on!"

Vornas ran over to the Daredevils. He grabbed Remer and Alek, hauling them to their feet. "Didn't think you'd be one to start a fight without me, Remer. I'm jealous. It seems I missed the fun."

Between blasts of his grenade launcher, Remer quipped back. "You should be extra jealous, Vornas. Someone got a shot off on the boss, and we got a class presentation from mister burning head over there."

"Oh that's different then." said Vornas. "I'm not jealous, just angry."

The Sorcerer's broken face continued to spew red light, but he was steadying himself. Dozens more Hounds and regular Vandis foot soldiers poured out from the tanks, whooping and screaming and firing their guns recklessly into the growing melee. Hurst ran one dog through with his bayonet before rifle butting a second. He eyed Merrick crawling along the ground, clutching his side. A trail of blood followed him. "Merrick, I'm coming!"

Hurst killed two more of the Hounds, sprinting to his downed friend. He skidded along the floor before coming to a stop beside Merrick. "It's alright, Merrick, I've got you." he said firmly. "We'll get you out of here as soon as we can!"

The sorcerer had stabilized himself, and what was left of his face contorted into an image of pure rage. "YOU DARE!? I AM CROWLEY, I AM ONE, I AM ETERNAL! EMBRACE THE WARP EVERLASTING!" His hands glowed with warpfire. Doombolts, psychic bursts of warp energy, shot from his fingertips, consuming dozens of the Artemians in unholy fire.

"Bring that fucker down!" called one of the Artemian sergeants. A veritable light show of lasgun bolts convened on the Sorcerer, piercing his ceramite armour in several places, revealing more and more of that horrible, red glow. The Sorcerer swept his staff like a farmer's scythe, bisecting a group of guardsmen too close to him. Their bodies expanded and burst when they hit the floor, showering the chamber in blood.

Above, Kippler picked his targets carefully. His aim was unfaltering, and wherever a shot landed, it was soon followed by panic from the Hounds. Up here, he could see where the Hounds were coming from. Several of the water tanks were empty, and looked like they were being used to hold troops. More kept spilling out from further into the warehouse. None of them had taken to the gantry yet, letting him continue to harass them unimpeded.

The Artemians pulled back from the melee to distance themselves from Crowley's rage and the mutant cultists. Warpfire continued to cut through them, tearing apart soldiers effortlessly, but the Hounds were beginning to falter. Under the steady stream of las fire, they were more cautious, consolidating around their incensed leader. Elliah continued to trade shots with the hounds, staying low.

Remer and Vornas stood side by side. Vornas was going berserk, killing every heretic in his field of view, with no regards for his own safety. Wielding his grenade launcher like a blunt club, he crushed the head of a Vandis soldier with it, before throwing the broken weapon at the traitors.

A krak grenade burst inside the broken launcher, shrapnel piercing the supports for one of the water tanks. The tank collapsed, sending a cascade of green water sloshing across everyone. An errant flamer burst hit the surface, igniting the flammable chemicals. Suddenly, the whole room was aflame.

Remer turned casually to Vornas. "You finished yet? Or should we take out the ceiling supports to make you feel better?"

"I don't care, just melt these fuckers!" he roared in response.

"I WILL REND YOU APART IN MIND AND BODY! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE HERE ALIVE!" screeched Crowley, now covered in flames and buckling under the repeated las fire. The sigils and markings across his armour were now twisted and mangled, and he looked less a figure of knowledge and power, and more a brute, barely containing his 'human' form. "WITNESS OBLIVION!"

Elliah began to feel the ground shake beneath her boots. The flaming water was swirling around the Sorcerer, the flames reaching ever higher the closer they were to the apex of the whirlpool. "Elliah, get back from there!" Fenn and Roland grabbed her arms, pulling her away from the growing vortex. The room was shaking, the rusting supports beginning to snap under the tension.

Kippler packed up his rifle and sprinted for the stairs. He reached the bottom just as the entire section ripped off, caught in the whirlwind. He rushed over to Hurst, and the two hauled Merrick to his feet. Hurst shouted to the remaining guardsmen. "Everyone, pull back! The place is going to collapse! Move, move!"

The Hounds and Vandis troops, confused by their imploding leader, ignored the danger and stared at the spectacle. As it expanded, they were dragged inwards, into the twisting inferno. Elliah stole one last glance behind her before sprinting for the exit. The Sorcerer was still visible in the middle, screaming with countless voices. She then rushed after Roland and Fenn into the darkness of the side tunnels. The blackness seemed much more enticing now.

* * *

><p>"Come on, faster, faster!" shouted Hurst, moving as quickly as he could without hurting Merrick. The Daredevils were the last ones out. Remer, Alek and Vornas were up ahead corralling the Artemians forward. He and Soras were bringing up the rear, hauling Merrick.<p>

"Kippler, melta bombs!" said Hurst. Kippler nodded without a word. Turning back, he lobbed two explosives back into the chamber. Without looking back, they ran.

* * *

><p>Inside the chamber, amidst the flames and swirling energies of the warp, the currents of wind caught the two melta bombs, drawing them into the center of the mass. Circling Lord Crowley as if caught in a drain, the melta bombs spun closer and closer. Finally, one of the devices struck the Marine in the remnants of his face.<p>

* * *

><p>Several hundred yards away, the fleeing Guardsmen heard the deafening blast. Then, the tunnel was filled with a huge blast of dust and water, swiftly overtaking them. Then all was silent.<p>

* * *

><p>Two hours passed in the darkness. The remains of the company made their way back to the Administratum Complex's lower levels. There was a sound up ahead. The weary guardsmen readied their weapons, prepared to take another attack. Exhausted, Hurst called ahead. "Identify yourself!"<p>

A familiar voice responded. "Imperial Guard, 85th Vendoland! Respond!"

"Imperial Guard!" said Hurst, a smile growing across his face. "4th Grenadiers and 31st Artemian!"

The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Elliah and her squad could see spot lamps and helmet lights in the distance, coming closer. When they arrived, she was greeted with the faces of Gren and Flinn, along with several more soldiers wearing Vendoland green. She breathed a sigh of relief, and slumped against the wall in exhaustion. They were safe.

Flinn smiled. "Didn't I ask you if we could grab a drink, earlier?" He offered her his hand.

Elliah accepted his grip, and he hauled her to her feet. "I think I'll take you up on it."

"Make that two of us, lad." said Gren softly. Merrick slowly turned his head upwards, and gave a weak smile.

"It's good to see you, Gren."

Gren returned the smile. "And you, friend."


	6. BTEW: The Dark Future

**The Dark Future**

Night fell over Meridian. Far to the south of the Imperials' stronghold in Angel Hive, Urizen Hive teemed with activity. Millions upon millions of workers toiled away, building weapons and storing them for the day when their chaotic masters would rise up. For now, the Archenemy was content to wait, using the lull in the Imperial offensive to gather strength.

From Urizen's palace spire, two beings oversaw the massive project below. The first was an astartes, towering over his companion. His face was obscured by a half mask that distorted his figure. He was adorned with armor black as midnight, and he carried on him an assortment of knives and lethal blades. His name was Zephus Hassan.

The second figure was a small man, his appearance hidden by a heavy robe. The figure nervously looked up at the astartes. The marine had turned his gaze northwards, in the direction of the capital.

"I assumed he would last longer than that." said Zephus. "Crowley was a fool, and his arrogance was his undoing. He is no great loss. He served his purpose."

"Are you sure of that, my Lord Hassan?" said the hooded man. "In every way, his plan failed utterly. What do we gain from his delusions?"

"Without Aleister, he was nothing but a pawn." explained Zephus-Hassan coldly. "I let him think he was on his own, the last great hope for the Black Legion to turn around a failed crusade. Crowley's demise only serves to strengthen us. It was sufficiently distracting for our Imperial neighbours. The panic caused by his little escapade drew back their forces watching Spire Legis. What they took from us by the lives of thousands, we took back without effort."

"You are quick to use your brothers to your own ends, my lord." said the robed man.

"He was not my brother." snapped Hassan. The robed man recoiled. "I do not share that misguided sense of kinship with others."

"What of the Imperials, my lord? Will they not react by deploying further forces against us?"

The faintest smile crossed Zephus's lips. "Let them gather. Let them lick their wounds. The Imperium will not move against us for some time."

"Of course, Hassan," the robed man said, bowing.

Zephus turned on the man, giving him a warning look. "Listen to me, worm. I want you to be ready when I call, understand? You will be used, just as he was. And when I call, you will answer, and you will play your part."

"Yes, my lord. For what you have offered me, I would give nothing less than my life. It is a small price to pay."

"Good. Then I leave you to your games. Everything that transpires from this day forward is merely a means to an end. And unlike fools such as Crowley or Vandis, I have the virtue of patience. Go now, I wish to be alone."

The robed man bowed, and retired from the balcony. Zephus-Hassan looked down over the ruins of the Spire. Whether it took a single spire or the entire planet, he would attain his goal. The target was in his sights. Only the field needed preparing.


	7. City Slumber Midnight Thunder: Road Rage

**CITY SLUMBER, MIDNIGHT THUNDER**

** Road Rage**

"Talon 3 reporting in, sweep completed. No suspicious activity."

"Talon 4 reporting in, minor activity, nothing serious."

Dorin sat in the cockpit of his Sentinel, listening to the vox as his squadron sounded off. It was late, and Talon Squadron had been on duty for the past eight hours. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. Things had been quiet lately. Routine scouting runs between Capital Spire and Spire Legis were his day to day business. He had lost count of how many times they'd done this run.

Ever since the Black Legion invasion, Spire Legis had become a hotspot for cultist activity. While the initial push by the Vendoland regiments had temporarily brought it back under control, things soon fell apart once again. Nowadays, attacks on Legis were more of a containment effort, to keep them from spilling over into the other regions before the Guard could muster enough troops to stamp them out permanently.

"Talon 6 reporting in, sweep finished. No new activity."

Dorin spoke. "Roger that, all Talons fall in, we're heading home." He fired up with Sentinels engine, and the large spotlamp cast a bright light immediately ahead of him. Turning around, Dorin pushed the Sentinel into a steady jog along the raised boulevard. Between the towering hive spires, the cityscape of Meridian was much flatter. A person could view the steady incline of raised buildings the closer to the center they got, but for the most part, things were low to the ground.

It was convenient for sure. When they weren't dealing with the Vandis heretics, Guardsmen on Meridian had to deal with the constant threat of Ork looters, as well as the occasional Eldar scouting party. The elevated roadways and flat ground gave them the chance to spot ambushes before they happened. It never hurt to be too careful.

Dorin caught sight of another Talon's spotlamp, and he moved to join him. Other lights across the landscape homed in as well. Before long, all six Sentinels had regrouped. The sky was completely dark now. With all vital electricity going to the main spires, the streetlamps were dead, and they had to rely on their own lights for guidance. Moving at a quick pace along the highway, the glowing lights reaching into the clouds marked Capital Spire's location in the distance.

The squadron was making good time. Dorin was looking forward to a nice shot of amnesac, a couple rounds of Regicide, and a long, warm bath. After eight hours inside a cramped cockpit with barely enough room to scratch himself, small comforts felt like the blessing of the Emperor himself.

"Talon 1, this is Talon 5. I have movement on my scanner." Dorin was snapped out of his thoughts, immediately alert.

"Talon 5, identify them. What is it?" he ordered. It could be an Ork party, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with at night.

"Looks like... fifteen signatures. They're civilian vehicles sir: One hauler, five half tracks, and nine personal transports."

Dorin frowned. "They're out after curfew. Talon Squadron, fan out across the highway and power up your spotlamps. We'll halt them for questioning."

"Roger that sir." responded the drivers. The bipedal walkers spread out to cover the lanes. Lighting up their spotlamps, the highway was illuminated for a good 300 yards. The incoming group of vehicles slowed down and stopped before the squadron. The Talons trained their multilasers on the bigger vehicles. Dorin unlocked his top hatch, and clambered out, laspistol in hand. His vox speaker amplified his voice.

"Attention, Imperial citizens. You are in violation of curfew. Exit your vehicles and identify yourselves for questioning. Failure to comply will be met with deadly force."

There was no response from the convoy. No hatches opened, nobody stepped forward. Frustrated, Dorin continued. "This is your last warning, identify yourselves, or suffer the consequences of your actions."

Still no reply. Dorin dropped into his seat. "Talon 3, fire a warning shot across the hauler. Show them we mean business."

"Roger sir." The sentinel snapped off a multilaser shot, missing the hauler's cabin by inches. That ought to make them see reason, thought Dorin. The door to the hauler opened, and a person stepped out onto the truck's side platform. Dorin spoke into his vox again.

"Raise your hands and turn to face us. If you do not comply, you will be fired upon."

The man stepped into the light. He was nothing special. He wore a heavy coat that somehow still struggled to keep his fat contained. The man was silent. "Identify yourself," ordered Dorin.

The driver still said nothing. He just turned to his cab and nodded. Far ahead on the highway, there was a flash of light that temporarily backlit the convoy resting in front of the Sentinels. Then, the explosions started.

A missile slammed into the side of Talon 3, the blast knocking the walker off its feet and setting it alight. A second hit the ground in front of Talon 2, engulfing the Sentinel in the explosion. Several more missiles began falling all around the Sentinel squadron, who promptly began backpedalling out of the impact zone.

"Talon Squadron, return fire!" shouted Dorin, "Convoy is hostile, I repeat, convoy is hostile!"

The transport's headlights activated, and the vehicle began to accelerate forward. The hauler took up half the highway, while the rest of the civilian vehicles fell in behind the behemoth.

"Talons, turn tail! Get out of its path!" shouted Dorin. Desperately, he turned his Sentinel about and pushed it into a full run. The hauler was gaining on them. Talons 5 and 6 were too slow to start, and the hauler smashed into them like a freight train, running down the fragile walkers and smashing their cockpits under its heavy wheels. Only Dorin and Talon 4 remained, sprinting at a breakneck pace to outrun the hauler.

"Jump the divide, quick!" he shouted. The hauler was nipping at the Sentinel's heels. Their only chance would be to jump the divide between the separated highway, and get back to the Spire. It was a narrow chasm, but to fail meant dropping to certain death. Between falling three stories and being crushed under an industrial shipping vehicle, Dorin was weighing his options.

There was a bend coming up in the highway. This was their chance. The jump was a straight shot for them now. Dorin pushed his walker to its limits, the foot claws barely touching the ground before springing forward again. He looked behind him, and smiled. The Hauler would have to slow down to take the turn, and they'd get away. Dorin slammed the throttle forward as far as it would go. Reaching the corner, the two remaining Sentinels pushed off the ground, making their leap.

Dorin was aware of a number of things happening at once. He felt the sound of his heartbeat, the hum of the Sentinel's engine, and the sinking feeling in his chest when he realized that the Hauler wasn't stopping. The two sentinels were halfway across the chasm when the Hauler struck them from behind.

Talon 4 was clipped by the hauler, sending it tumbling below. Dorin's walker was hit like a bug on a windshield, pressed against the hauler's blunt fenders. The truck smashed into the road on the other side, skidding to a halt. Dorin was thrown forward from the fender, sliding into the rockrete barrier on the other side. The force of the crash threw him from his seat headfirst into the canopy. Something snapped in his body, and he couldn't feel anything below his neck. The tumbling wreck eventually came to a stop.

Smoke rose out of the crumpled Sentinel. Dorin couldn't move his body at all. His spine had severed, he was paralyzed. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was slipping into shock. The last thing Dorin saw in his fading vision was the truck driver holding a gun, aimed at his head.


	8. CSMT: A Little Scrap Never Hurt

**A Little Scrap Never Hurts**

"I must say, it is surprising how quickly situations can change, isn't it?" said Wadden Hurst. "I suppose we have the Emperor to thank for that." Hurst took a sip of wine, and reclined in his high backed chair. The Officer's Club was a nice change from the dusty streets, and he relished the chance to wear his dress uniform.

"Indeed, Sergeant." said Brigadier General Tullassar Derim. "I find that in the grand scheme of things, fate tends to lend its hand to those who rig the deck in their favour. Were it not for our contributions in solidifying a defensive hold on the Capital Spire, things might have turned out much differently."

The other officers nodded in agreement. Beside Hurst, Alek was fidgeting in his seat. Sergeant Hurst had invited him to come along, and he'd been too nervous to say no. Hurst himself had been invited by General Derim. So he was an invitee for an invitee. That made things awkward for Alek. He looked down at the grox steak in front of him, barely touched. His cybernetic fingers gripped a dinner knife, and he reluctantly cut himself a slice.

Colonel Orias Nolt spoke. "I don't think you give our men enough credit, General. While our initiative was indeed a deciding factor, I remain confident that we would have been able to hold out for a long enough time on our own."

"You're too proud, Orias." said Tullassar sternly. "There is one thing to be proud of your own men, and another to spit in the faces of those who offer you help. I'll not stand for inter-regimental rivalries."

"Of course, General." said Orias. The man's hawk like features betrayed any sincerity in his apology. Alek resented him for it, but he kept to himself.

Hurst turned to the other officers, "Commander Lorald, your Dyneemek detachment was the first to arrive after the Artemians, yes? What do you make of the situation?"

Lorald stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I'd say it is a grim scene. I mean, this meal is a nice comfort, but the regular soldiers go out to die by the hundreds every day. I'm sure you understand that personally Sergeant. I know what it means to lead people to war, but something doesn't feel right about this place. It feels like there's something else at work here that we cannot see. Something behind the scenes, I feel. It makes me uneasy."

'"Behind the scenes?"' laughed one of the Corinthian Officers, "Is there someone behind the curtain over there running the show?"

The whole table burst into laughter. Lorald glared at them, but he stayed silent. It wasn't worth arguing with drunken fools. Hurst's vox bead started ringing in his pocket. He sighed. "Excuse me for one moment." he said, standing up from the table. He walked behind a row of decorative plants for some privacy.

"Hurst here, what is it?"

"Hurst? It's Captain Uther. I'm trying to reach Merrick, but he isn't responding on his vox link. Do you have any idea where he is?"

Hurst shook his head. "No sir, I'm not sure where he is. I could pass the message along for you."

"That would be excellent, Sergeant. I appreciate it. Make sure to tell Merrick about how difficult this was for you."

Hurst smiled. "Will do sir."

"Again, thank you, Sergeant."

Hurst sighed. So much for a nice dinner, it seemed. He sat back down at the table. "I'm sorry gentlemen, but I must take my leave, I have to relay a message to my colleague, Sergeant Merrick."

Alek looked up from his food. "I could take it, sergeant," he offered. "I know where Sergeant Major Merrick is too."

"You would do that, Alek?"

"Yes sir, it's no problem at all!" said the boy, almost too enthusiastically. His eyes were pleading to Hurst to let him go. The sergeant smiled and shook his head.

Hurst chuckled. "Very well then, off you go. Tell the Sergeant Major the trouble you had to go through, put him on edge a bit."

"Will do sir." said Alek, half sprinting to the exit. The officers watched him trip over a vase of flowers in his rush to leave. "I'm alright!" he called. They gave a collective hmph, and went back to their conversation.

"That boy has a mean streak of bad luck, doesn't he?"

Hurst whistled. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

><p>"Come on Merrick! Kick his ass!"<p>

Merrick ducked under the Catachan's swing, and planted his fist in the man's gullet. The giant staggered back from the blow, but didn't fall. The two circled each other in the small, caged off ring. Sweat poured down Merrick's back. They had fought nonstop for ten minutes, and it was beginning to take its toll on both of them. The crowd cheered them on, bets were placed, drinks were spilled, and fights broke out. This was The Bunker, where the infantry went on their off duty hours. The Catachan sprung forward again.

He was a big man, with dark black skin. The Catachans were expert jungle fighters, and they were waiting to ship out to Typhon any day. They spent their spare time drinking and fighting in the pit rings, taking on all comers. He sidestepped the Catachan and kicked him from behind, pushing him into the cage's metal bars. Merrick leapt onto his opponent's back, and grabbed him in a full nelson. The Catachan suddenly threw his head back, bashing Merrick in the face.

Merrick recoiled from the blow. The next punch hit him in the nose with a sickening crunch. He found his legs swept out from under him, and he landed on the ground hard. The Catachan raised his hands in victory, and stood over Merrick, smiling. He kicked him in the side. "Get up, our fight ain't over yet."

Merrick coughed, but smiled right back at him. "Actually, I think it is." Merrick's foot shot out and caught the bigger man squarely in the groin. A painful gasp went through the crowd. The Catachan wheezed out a pained moan while Merrick scrambled to his feet. Balling his hands together, Merrick brought his fists down on the back of the Catachan's head. The man dropped like a stone, whimpering on the floor. Merrick took a deep breath, and pounded his fist in the air. The crowd cheered, and the winners collected their bets.

Alek arrived at the Bunker, and gently pushed his way through the crowd. The air was smoky, and it smelled of piss, but he felt more comfortable here in the crowded bar than at some sterile, upper class dinner party. On his left he saw the fighter's pits, lowered into the ground. The Bunker was set up with a balcony overlooking the fighter's pits, and a wide walkway encircling the center.

He heard someone call his name. Looking up, he saw Borik Vornas and Lenham Remer waving to him from the upper level. They were shouting something at him, but with all the noise, he figured it would be better to see them in person than to try long distance communication. Weaving through the mixed crowds and up the stairs, he found his way to his squad mates. Kippler was sitting at their booth, wiping down his bayonet. He grinned when he saw Alek stumble towards them.

"Lost your appetite, Alek?" he asked.

"Sort of," said Alek, grabbing a drink as he sat down. "Got a message from Captain Uther, and I offered to send it along to Merrick. The officers made me a little jumpy. Smelly and gritty is what living's supposed to be like, not fancy dress uniforms."

Vornas stepped back from the railing and slapped Alek on the shoulder. "That's more Hurst's style anyways," he laughed. "If his blood were any bluer, we'd call him a Tau!"

Kippler snickered. "That's true enough. Tully seems to like him, not many NCOs get to play dress up with Generals. "

Alek looked around. "Where is Merrick anyways?" he asked.

Kippler tilted his head towards the railing. Remer was shouting at the top of his lungs. "Come on Boss! Break his fucking jaw! I've got fifty thrones on the line, you realize? Drop him hard!"

Alek peered over the edge. Sure enough, Merrick was down in the fighter's pit, now squaring off against Mad Hound Manrey from the 31st Artemians. Merrick was the bigger of the two, while Manrey was hunched over like an ape. Merrick grabbed the surly man's knee as it was brought up and twisted it sideways, flipping Manrey over in midair. Down on the ground, he stomped the Mad Hound in the chest. Manrey gasped for air. The crowd burst out cheering again.

"Yeah, that's right you frakking monkey!" shouted Remer, whooping with glee at the prospect of his winnings. "Nobody messes with the Boss! Adamantium grade balls, he has!"

Merrick was sweating hard. Stripped to his undershirt, his clothes were drenched. He'd had enough for one night. He pushed through the adoring crowds. The chants were nice, but he had to call it quits for now. Clambering up the stairs, he plunked himself down with the rest of the Daredevils, grabbing Alek's glass and taking a long swig. He scratched his side irritably.

"You know sarge, it won't heal if you keep peeling it off." chastised Kippler.

Merrick groaned. "Ah, I don't care, Kippler. I never liked synthflesh anyways. How was the fight from up here?"

Remer hopped down from the railing. "Well, I'm up a hundred thrones, thanks to you, Boss. You sure you couldn't get another round in there? Three for three and I'd buy us a night at the Guardswomen's barracks." Noticing who was approaching, he continued, "Or, one kiss from everyone's favourite Commissar. Would you be up for that, ma'am?"

Commissar Connor stood there with a look of curious disgust for Remer. "If I was on duty, private, I'd see you shot for that remark. I'll let it slide this time."

Connor wasn't in uniform. She simply wore a plain black officer's jacket with the red sash, but nothing formal. She wasn't here on business, thought Merrick. "So, ma'am, what brings you to The Bunker this fine evening?"

"Rest, recuperation, and refining my feel for the infantry." she said, sitting down.

Merrick frowned. "You psychoanalyze your troops on your time off?"

"Yes, I find it helps to understand what makes them tick before I am told to lead them into a warzone."

Remer cut in. "And there's no better way to do that than to share a couple drinks with the regiment's most handsome member, right miss?"

"Go soak your head, private."

"I thought the Captain was getting that treatment already..." muttered Remer.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, private. Drop it."

Alek perked up at the mention of the Captain. "Oh, that reminds me, Sergeant. Hurst wanted me to relay a message to you from Captain Uther. It sounded important."

Merrick sighed. "It never ends, does it? Fine, I'll take the message. You want to come along, ma'am? If it's important you should probably hear it as well."

"I agree, Sergeant Major. You lead the way."

Dawn was beginning to creep over the Spire, the first few rays of light penetrating the darkness of the lower levels. It was only marginally cooler outside. The Bunker was on the lower levels of the Capital Spire, near the heat distribution plant. The air was heavy and wet. Merrick took his vox bead from his pocket and attached it to his ear. Connor did the same, and switched to his frequency.

"Merrick here, what's this about Captain?"

"Merrick, Get your squad up to HQ, and get them prepped for an assignment. We've got a situation that needs to be dealt with."

"Right sir, we're on our way."

* * *

><p>The Administratum Complex seemed to change function every time Merrick visited the place. It was either a refugee camp, a military headquarters, or a half abandoned warehouse. Sometimes it was even an office building. Right now, it looked like a mixture of everything.<p>

The Daredevils had geared up during the ride over, now wearing their full carapace armour. The dull green paint job was chipped and worn from the constant combat of the last year. It was only now that they had managed to get a real break from combat for any amount of time.

The 85th Vendoland were now the lead scouts for the entirety of Meridian's armed forces. Merrick figured that that's what Uther wanted them for. Some Vandis troops were probably spotted trying to cross the dead zone between the spires, so they'd have to go in and check it out for a potential attack.

They found Uther in the communications room. Hurst was already there in full kit. The wide, low ceilinged chamber was lit by the glowing blue charts emanating from the dozen tactical map tables spread throughout the room. Comm officers and servitors bustled around the tables, inspecting archaic paper maps beside state of the art holocharts.

"Right, what's the job, Captain?" said Merrick, pushing his way to the table. The charts were showing the area between the Capital and Legis, commonly known as the Dead Zone. It was a flat industrial wasteland, completely abandoned during the Tyranid invasion, and now acting as a buffer between the two warring Spires. Uther marked a spot on the map, an elevated highway.

"Four hours ago, we picked up a distress call from one of the Kydoran Sentinel Squadrons. Apparently, they were attacked by civilian vehicles moving through the dead zone, and they managed to kill his entire squadron."

Merrick frowned. "Why'd they leave him then?"

"He told us his Sentinel was clipped in midair, and he fell down the chasm separating the lanes of the road. So far as they knew, he had died."

'Command wants the 85th Vendoland to scout the area out, in case the Vandis forces are setting up shop in the Dead Zone. If they are, we need someone to mark out the areas for bombardment and air strikes."

"And that's where we come in, is it?" said Merrick.

"Precisely, sergeant major. The Artemian 6th Urban Brigade has been assigned to the mission as well. They will provide transportation for the operation. Your units appear to work well together. Additionally, the Kydorans wish to avenge their comrades, and have offered a Sentinel squadron for support."

"That should give us enough guns in case things get hairy." said Merrick with a wry smile. We'll head down to the loading bay."

"Good luck sergeant major. May the Emperor guide us to victory."


	9. CSMT: Old Faces, New Threats

**Old Faces, New Threats**

The Munitorium bay was a cavernous hole carved into the northern side of Capital Spire. The troopers had taken to calling it "The Gulch." The Gulch was serving as the drop-off point for the Imperial forces deployed to Meridian. The floor of the bay was teeming with activity, trucks steadily moving in and out of the Gulch, laden down with munitions.

. Merrick and the Daredevils were busy loading their gear into the recon vehicles. Merrick looked up to see the Artemian company approaching them. He recognized some of their faces. A grin crept across his face when he saw the man leading them. The dark skinned man shook his hand and returned the smile.

'Good to see you again, Corporal,' said Merrick.

'That's actually Sergeant now, sir,' corrected Roland. 'Artemian policy. If your officer is killed in action, you automatically assume his post. If you survive the engagement, the promotion is made official.'

'Huh, doesn't sound very efficient. You could end up with someone like Castille in charge.' Merrick let the disdain for that name drip from his words. "Just don't get your head ripped off, alright?"

Roland smiled. "I'll do my best sir."

The recon group's vehicles included Salamanders, bikes, and several Tauros jeeps, all coated with the blue grey pattern the Artemians wore for urban combat. The Kydoran Sentinels stood in stark contrast, with a garish yellow paint job better suited to irradiated deserts than cityscapes.

Remer and Vornas were lifting a multi las power pack onto the Salamander, chatting. "Looks like we get to fight with the boys in blue again, eh Bor? Fancy that, a mixed gender regiment, you don't think that one lass recognizes me, do you?"

"Which one?" muttered Vornas, grabbing another pack. "The tall leggy one who planted her boot in your face, or that little raven haired girl that took a shine to old Gren?"

"You know the one, that Fayden gal. Ellie, Elle, or something like that."

"So the second one," said Vornas. "Who also punched you in the stomach, and isn't interested in the slightest."

"That's just what you think, Bor. One day you will see I'm right."

Vornas scoffed. "The day that happens is the day you will get Connor into bed."

"Sooner than you think, Vornas."

"Whatever."

Hurst emerged from the driver's cabin. "Pack it up, we're moving out in five minutes," he said. "Don't want to keep the cultists waiting any longer than we have to."

The Artemians loaded onto their vehicles and began to head out. Merrick clambered into the back of the Salamander, closing the hatch behind him and cloaking the squad in darkness. The scout pulled them into line behind the others. The driver called back to the Daredevils over the vox. "The name's Torvin. I hope you don't mind, but I've been told to tell you to hold onto something."

Before Merrick could respond, the engine revved, the Salamander lurching forward and knocking him off balance. Torvin let out a whoop as they veered around the corner of the Gulch, one set of treads in the air. Capital Spire slowly leveled out into the flat expanses of the Dead Zone. The convoy had passed from the safety of the spire into an open warzone.

* * *

><p>It was midday by the time the group reached the site of the attack. The endless roads and suburbs of the upper hab spires were monotonous but deadly. Every street could be an ambush, every city block a potential trap. It was slow going until they reached the highway. Up here above the sprawl, they were more exposed, but the Guard's air superiority kept them relatively safe.<p>

The convoy came to a stop in front of the scene, fanning out to cover the entire road. Torvin pulled the Salamander to a stop beside one of the twisted Sentinels. Merrick and the Daredevils filed out of the darkened cabin onto a sun scorched expanse of asphalt. The Artemian Captain dropped from his vehicle and began issuing orders.

"Get to work pulling whatever you can from the cockpits," he said. "Have you got a tech specialist, Vendolanders? We can share the data."

Hurst stepped forward. "We don't technically have a specialist, but there's nothing a knife and some steady hands can't handle. I'll get started on the first Sentinel."

The pilots were still inside, their corpses trapped in the crushing metal embrace of their smashed cockpits. The cultists were too lazy to haul them out, but they had taken the time to carve sigils and unholy glyphs into their exposed skulls. Hurst steeled himself and crawled in.

The smell was terrible. Rak beetles had already begun boring into the poor soul's body, secreting a foul smelling odour as they did. Hurst flipped out his combat knife and slid the blade into a crease in the console, prying the auspex scanner loose. Pulling himself out of the wreckage, scanner in hand, he moved onto the next sentinel, doing the same.

The sun was sweltering, the light reflecting heat off of the rockrete surface of the road. Hurst sat in the shadow of Torvin's Salamander, and started working on the scanners. Using his knife like a screwdriver, Hurst pulled the casings off. Stepping inside the Salamander, he connected the exposed ports of the scanner to the vehicle's onboard cogitator. A blue light emanated from the vehicle's video screen.

"Right, what have we got, Waddy?" said Merrick, looking over Hurst's handiwork.

"I thought you'd stopped calling me that," muttered Hurst. "Still, I think we've got something. I'll start the playback."

The video screen showed a somewhat garbled transmission of the Sentinel's recordings. The squadron had come to a halt along the highway, where they were confronted by several vehicles. The squadron leader was calling to them, when the whole scene became backlit by something behind the convoy. Moments later, the image began shaking from the impact shockwaves of a missile barrage. The camera turned tail and began moving swiftly along the highway after three other Sentinels. The image cut to static soon after.

Hurst unplugged the scanner and set it on his lap. "Well, that explains what happened to them. Now all we need to do is find out why, and where those trucks were going."

* * *

><p>Modren carefully pushed his sentinel over the rubble strewn across the highway. The weakened surface was cracked and depressed where years of wear had taken their toll. Modren was itching for a fight. He wanted these pricks to pay for spilling Kydoran blood. Fresh tread marks lead away from the site, leading towards the large hab block dominating the southern length of the highway. This could be it.<p>

He spoke into his vox. "Dragoons 16 and 17, report back to Command. We've got a potential lead on the target's source."

The pilots signed off before peeling away from the squadron. "The rest of you, follow my lead. No sense in leading our allies into a death trap without scouting it out first."

The rest of the sentinels continued to drive towards the Hab block. The Dead zone had been left to decay during the Black Legion's invasion, and the continued insurgency had left the region to languish without recovery efforts. The hab block was pockmarked with gaping holes and crumbling buttresses, exposing its innards to the harsh sunlight.

The squadron came to a stop on an outcropping overlooking the building. Modren powered up his auspex and began a scan. The whole area was supposed to be abandoned. Of course that wouldn't stop urchins crawling in wherever they could. But then, urchins didn't carry high grade military equipment, like the ones that were sounding alerts across his console. They'd found them.

* * *

><p>"Not the smartest if they didn't decide to relocate after pulling a stunt like they did." remarked Hurst. "I doubt it's Vandis troops. They're too smart for this. It's probably just a cultist cell, or they're offworlders like us and don't know the territory."<p>

Hurst passed the binoculars over to Roland. The Artemian pressed them to his eyes. "What am I looking for, exactly?"

Hurst angled the binoculars for Roland. "See that entrance, between the two winged buttresses? That's where the Kydorans saw their signatures. Lots of munitions in there. Merrick, give me the map, would you?" Merrick passed the hololith chart to Hurst. "Here we are, Hab Block Altis. It looks like this was one of the PDF munitions dumps from the Coalition War. It's been abandoned for nearly six years according to Imperial records."

"Could they have found something inside?" asked Roland. "Was anything left behind?"

"Possibly," said Merrick. "The Vendoland Regiments were moved in after the war to aid in the recovery efforts, but we never did find every cache. We were dispersed over the subsector. Look at all the good that did us."

"I've got movement," said Kippler, not looking up from his scope. "Three, second floor, just passed by the crumbled section."

"Can you ID them, Soras?" said Hurst, peering over the lip of the outcropping. The sniper shook his head.

"Too fast to tell," he said. "No heraldry though. The Cultists like big spikes and I didn't see any."

Merrick spoke. "Roland, vox Captain Dalton. See what he wants done."

Alek pulled up his Vox kit, handing the caster to Roland as he dialed in the frequencies.

"Captain, this is sergeant Emol. The Vendolanders have confirmed the Kydoran's suspicions. They don't appear to have any outer defences, but the interior may be set up for an ambush. What are your orders?"

"Send the Daredevils in first, then follow at your own discretion," said Dalton. "I don't want this getting out of hand, so we will lock down this Hab Block if we have to."

"Understood Commander, Sergeant Emol out."

"Hey, Sergeant Hurst, I have a question."

Hurst sighed. "What is it, Private Remer?"

"Well, I don't act like I'm a military genius or anything, but a sergeant is a non-commissioned title right?"

"Yes."

"And Sergeant Major is the highest non-commissioned title you can get, right?"

Hurst rolled his eyes. "Yes, what's your point, Private?"

"Well, it was just on my mind sir, but how did you manage to get into that officer's dinner last night? I thought you needed to be a ranking official."

"If you must know, Private, General Derim invited me."

"Oh." said Remer, somewhat subdued.

"Did my answer disappoint you somehow, Private?"

"Well," started Remer. "It just seems rather boring, really. We were having bets on how you managed it. Kippler guessed that you'd tampered with a servitor to put you on the reservation. Vornas was betting on bribery."

"And what did you think, Remer?" said Hurst icily.

"I was guessing that you broke into a grox pen, set them loose in the kitchens, thus causing enough chaos that the servitors would be called to help the chefs capture all of them before they eat the entrees. After that, you would knock a lieutenant unconscious and steal his uniform, but the uniform is too small! So your commanding officer comes up to you and demands to know what you are doing, and reprimands you for uniform violations, but you head butt him and steal his uniform instead! Then you break into the dinner and nobody's the wiser. It's the perfect infiltration!"

There was an awkward silence as the squad kept walking. Hurst eventually spoke. "Just how drunk were you three last night?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," mumbled Remer.

"Remer, if you put as much effort into practical things as you did with your imagination, you'd be the next Patron Saint of the Imperial Guard."

"Much obliged, Sarge."

Hurst rolled his eyes again, and clipped on his gas mask. Merrick just chuckled and kept walking. Annoying as Remer could be, his eccentricities could be amusing. Merrick thought back to one of his earlier stories. Something about Space Marines riding on bears, whatever the hell those were.

A side entrance to the Hab Block presented itself. It was a small door, no bigger than a maintenance hatch, the same dull grey colour as everything else on Meridian. Flanking the door were Remer and Vornas. Kippler had his Long Las trained on the entrance, while Hurst applied the detonator. The device burst, blasting the door off its hinges and propelling it inwards. Vornas lobbed a flash bang inside, and the Daredevils piled in.

The room was clear. Steadily moving through the smaller antechambers, Merrick's men delved deeper into the abandoned Hab Block. The hallways were dimly lit by the emergency lights, and the air was filled with dust. They could hear voices and the sounds of machinery in the distance. The squatters were close by. Merrick put Kippler on point, scouting ahead with his long las for any incoming opposition. Kippler peered through a doorway leading to the machinery workshop, and raised his hand. Merrick sidled up beside him. "How many?"

"About twenty, working on one of those big industrial transports." whispered Kippler. "Maybe six guards, the rest look like workers. They're loading something big into the cargo hatch."

"Even if these aren't the guys we're looking for, they're still stealing Imperial tech. That's enough reason to shoot them." Merrick pointed at Vornas and Remer. "Knock on the door for me fellas."

"Right boss, should we go in with the witty one liners, or the other witty one liners?"

"Remer, right now, you could use your mouth as an improvised explosive device for all I cared, just get in there!" snarled Merrick.

Remer and Vornas looked at each other and shrugged. Vornas kicked the door down and Remer fired a pair of krak grenades into the shop. The room was suddenly filled with a web of Las discharges as the Daredevils stormed the room. Two of the engineers were bisected by the furious fusillade, and the rest dived for cover. The security guards, obvious in their experience, immediately dropped behind cover, blind firing with their autoguns to discourage the Grenadiers.

The workers broke from their hiding spots, making a run for it. Kippler managed to snipe two of them as they popped their heads out from behind boxes. Merrick flipped a work table, spilling its contents over the floor. Alek dove behind it, but not before stepping on a nail thrown from the workbench. He gasped sharply with the pain, but to the boy's credit, he didn't drop his gun this time. "Alek, on three, we push!" bellowed Merrick over the gunfire. "One, two, THREE!"

Using the table like a battering ram, Merrick and Alek charged towards the security guards makeshift bunker of boxes and workbenches. The table shielded them from the autogun bursts, leaving a trail of dents across its metal underside. The battering ram worked, breaking up the nest of guards. Merrick and Alek threw the table at them, using the temporary distraction to blast them at point blank.

In the midst of the firefight, several of the workers had scrambled for the transports. A large industrial hauler's engine was revving up. Hurst, flanked by Remer and Vornas, raced over to the Hauler. Two engineers were shot dead and the trio clambered onto the truck's cargo container. The truck burst forward, knocking them off balance. The three Daredevils fell backwards into the open hatch as the truck made a run for it.

"Kippler, driver, now!" shouted Merrick. Kippler brought his long las to bear, but it was too late. The truck smashed through the flimsy garage door and left the three remaining Daredevils in the dust.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" yelled Merrick. He pulled Alek to his feet, and jammed his vox bead into his ear. "Captain Dalton, we've got a problem. A truck just pulled out of here carrying three of my men."

Dalton responded immediately. "We've got units in pursuit, Sergeant-Major. Stay where you are and secure the Hab block. My squads have been meeting resistance in key areas."

"Like hell I'm going to leave my squad on their own!" cursed Merrick.

"That is an order, Sergeant-Major. Stand down."

Merrick killed the vox link and spat at the ground. "Well now what?" he said.

Kippler stepped forward, shouldering his gun. "As you said, boss. Like hell we're leaving them behind." He nodded to the back of the shop.

The workers that hadn't made it to the truck had been running for the back of the shop. Merrick saw why. "Oh, I like your thinking, Kippler."

"You know they'll probably court marshal us for disobeying orders, boss," Kippler pointed out.

"Feh, he's not _my_ Captain, is he? Let'em try."


	10. CSMT: By Fury's Speed

**By Fury's Speed**

The command center was going haywire. Uther's adjutants were getting swamped with incoming reports, and he was dodging request after request as he shoved his way towards the vox terminal. "Get me a line to Captain Dalton, now," he ordered the operator. "I want to know what the hell is going on out there! And get back, you fools, give me some space!"

The adjutants obliged, but only after a few forceful shrugs influenced their decision. What was Merrick thinking? He would never abandon an assignment like this, and he certainly wouldn't get Hurst to go along with it. The operator offered him the caster. "This is Captain Uther, Vendoland 85th. Captain Dalton, do you want to fill me in on what my troopers have done?"

Dalton's speech was brisk. "According to your sergeant, half his squad was trapped on a moving transport, and they moved to pursue it using an unidentified vehicle. My men are still securing the Hab block. The place is crawling with hostiles."

"Oh for the love of, where were they heading?" demanded Uther. "Is anyone able to support them?"

"I've sent Lieutenant Modren's Kydorans to follow them. A fat lot of good a Sentinel is going to be trying to keep up, but they were the only units I could spare."

Uther wiped his forehead of sweat. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes sir, I fear this is much worse than we anticipated."

Uther leaned over the console, lowering his voice. "How much worse?"

* * *

><p>Wadden groaned, sitting upright. The carapace armor had done its job, but he still ached. He looked around. He was inside the cargo container of the fleeing transport. Hurst could hear the hum of the engine, and he felt the bumpy highway through the truck bed. "Vornas, Remer, are you there?" he said.<p>

"Here," said Vornas, his voice coming from behind a pile of crates. "I've got Remer with me."

"And I must say, Bor, you make an excellent cushion. I'm fine by the way, helmet or not."

"Shame, you could have had some sense knocked into you."

"I knew you cared about me."

"Shut it," said Hurst. He looked around the container. The flatbed was filled with crates, but the main cargo appeared to be three long cylindrical containers. "Any ideas on how we get out of this mess?"

Remer leaned against one of the long tubes. "Well, not falling in here in the first place would have been the place to start." He looked up, "Right now I'd say our best bet is to get into the driver's cabin. This container looks like it's self contained. We'll have to go up and over the top, then drop onto the truck itself to get in though."

Hurst was only half listening. His focus was on the long tubes. "Private, do you know what you are leaning on?"

"Not really, no."

"I was being rhetorical you idiot. Get off that thing, now." Remer put up his hands and backed away from the tube. "That, private, is a Deathstrike Missile Warhead. This truck is filled with atomic weaponry."

Remer and Vornas glanced at each other, then down at the truck bed. "I hope our driver knows that, sir. It's getting awfully bumpy."

* * *

><p>"Alek, what's our heading?" called Merrick over the wind whipping through the open topped jeep. In the passenger's seat, Alek was pouring over a hololith chart of the Angel Hive freeways. Kippler was on the multilas turret, holding onto the gun and praying the webbing holding him in didn't give out as they tore down the road.<p>

"We're heading northwest, boss," he said. "This highway takes us along a route between Capital Spire and Legis before merging into the trans-hive mega roads."

"They could go any direction they wanted to by then. We'll have to catch them before that happens."

"Right boss!"

The Tauros was a little rusty, but given the condition of the workshop, the recon vehicle was surprisingly well maintained. Dalton's troops could take the building, but the truck was Merrick's priority, orders be damned. The fact that the people holed up in the hab block had the vehicles in the first place was troubling, however. Merrick put behind his guilt at abandoning the Artemians, and kept driving.

The sun cracked road dissolved under the jeep's tires, kicking up large dust plumes as they sped along after the fleeing transport. Below the highway, the last vestiges of human civilization gave away fully into the irradiated Dead Zone proper. But it was not empty. Something had caught sight of the movement along the road. And that something grinned, kicking his bike into action, raising his blade and letting loose an unmistakeable howl.

"WAAAGH!"

* * *

><p>Hurst grabbed hold of Vornas's hand and pulled himself out of the container. Keeping low to avoid losing his balance, Hurst crawled along the surface of the container, slowly moving forwards. Remer was keeping watch on the edge, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes while he surveyed their surroundings. The truck wasn't slowing down, but it also wasn't trying to throw them off. Hurst guessed they didn't know they were there.<p>

He and Vornas reached Remer. "We drop down onto the latch and work our way around to the door," said Hurst. "Our priority is keeping this thing from crashing, but I want to know where they were going with their cargo. So don't shoot the driver, just remove him."

Remer nodded. "Got it boss," he said. He then pointed behind them. "What about them?"

Hurst looked around. The highway had suddenly become awful busy. Around twenty vehicles were pursuing them. Their ramshackle construction was enough to identify them as Orks. The sudden zipping of bullets passing overhead just confirmed it. "Keep them off the truck if you can, you two," said Hurst. "I'll take the cab before our driver gets us all killed."

"On it, sir." Remer and Vornas swapped out their frag grenade belts for krak grenades, snapping the drums into place on their launchers. "I'll take the bike on the left, Bor. You take the trukk."

The Orks were closing in fast. Their vehicles were plastered with garish red paint and skull sigils that made convenient targets. With their first volley, Remer and Vornas caught their targets easily. Remer's grenade tore through the bike's front wheel, tossing the Ork over his handlebars as the chassis kicked forward. A green and red smear coated the road where he skidded to a halt.

The other Ork raiders veered to avoid the crash, letting Vornas's grenade explode on the front grill of the trukk. The engine's blast took out the driver, and the Orks holding onto the sides began to bail out, either falling to their deaths or leaping to other vehicles to continue their pursuit. Remer had to give it to them, they were tenacious. That just meant he had to try harder.

That was being made all the more difficult by their driver's erratic behaviour. Remer was struggling to stay still enough to fire while the transport swerved wildly to avoid the Ork shots. The idiot was going to die from a crash before an Ork bullet got through his thick metal cab. The Ork bikes were already faster than the hauler, swerving was just going to slow him down. Between a nuclear explosion and a high speed collision resulting in a nuclear explosion, Remer was hoping that Hurst could get things under control.

* * *

><p>Hurst had been hoping the same thing. Then the bastard had jerked suddenly, throwing him off balance. He held onto the container's railing with both hands, trying to stay flat to the left side of the truck. The rockrete barrier was coming distressingly close. He kicked out ineffectually, hoping that somehow his boots would keep him from being crushed.<p>

He began to shimmy along the railing, moving towards the cab. The railing was slippery, not helped by his sweaty hands. The truck was struck from behind with a loud clash. One hand slipped, and he swung around. Hurst gasped as his wrist was twisted, but he held on despite the pain.

The Orks were swiftly overtaking the transport. A second War Trukk pulled up alongside them, its side covered in Orks swinging hooks and roped barbs at anything they could latch onto. The driver of the truck veered into the Orks to push them off. Instead, the Orks just used the opportunity to leap onto the truck. Remer snapped another grenade belt into his launcher before promptly darting along the container away from the xenos.

Vornas got one shot off before following him. The greenskins piled onto the container, brandishing knives the size of cleavers and even bigger guns. Remer swallowed, glancing from the pressing orks to Vornas and back. "Any ideas, Bor?"

"I was hoping you had something actually," said Vornas uncertainly.

* * *

><p>The Sentinels pounded across the ash wastes, following the growing trails of smoke along the highway. Modren pushed the squadron to their machine's limits, bounding across the land. He barely felt the walker's feet touch the ground before it sprang forward again. They had to get ahead of the truck and find a way to bring it to a stop.<p>

The smoke clouds were worrying. Modren had no idea if the traitors had found friends on the road, or if something else was happening. There had been reports of movement along the trans-hive roads, far outside the Kydoran's operating zone. They had no idea what was out here, information being distributed on a need to know basis.

He tried his vox again. "Sergeant Merrick, Modren here. Respond damn you!" The Vendolander hadn't answered a single hail since they'd set out, whether because he couldn't respond or he didn't want to. Modren didn't know what to think. He smacked the console in frustration and kept the Sentinels going.

Switching channels to the squadron, he spoke again. "Alright boys, the Daredevils aren't going to give us the time of day, so from now on, we're on our own. Follow heading mark two-five. It's an access ramp that will take us over the highway. The road bends east about twenty kilometers ahead, so we'll cut across to get ahead of them, then we blow the overpass. One way or another, that truck is stopped, and Kydoran blood is avenged!"

* * *

><p>Merrick weaved in between the scrap strewn thoroughfare. Seemed the Orks had taken an interest to the transport as well. They weren't doing a good job however, but he never thought much of Ork planning to begin with. They were just another obstacle. A large, green, gun laden obstacle.<p>

The specks on in the distance were quickly growing into the large, distinctive shapes of the Ork raiders. "Soras, take out the wheels!" said Merrick. Behind him, Kippler powered up the multilaser. Alek set down the hololith chart and readied his hellgun. The whir of the multilaser rose to a droning whine. Kippler fired.

True to his reputation, Kippler scored an impressive number of hits. The nearest Bike was shorn in two by the flurry of shots before the Orks even knew what hit them. They wouldn't get so lucky again. Noticing their comrade's demise, two more bikers dropped back, flanking either side of the Tauros. Merrick veered into the biker on the left, forcing the Xenos to back off.

Alek was struggling with his Ork. The slavering Xenos had taken a chance and swept in close enough to start swinging his knife at Alek. Alek was simultaneously trying to shoot the Ork and deflect the knife with his hellgun, achieving neither with any grace. The Ork howled and swung at Alek again, who sank into his seat and raised his gun. The knife lodged into the hellgun, sparks flaring out of the barrel.

Kippler paled. "Alek, lose the gun! Now!" This was bad. Las weaponry was sturdy and reliable, provided the weapon wasn't breached. Then, the gun turned into a bomb. An overcharged lasgun was comparable to an IED when it exploded, enough to destroy a vehicle. And a hellgun was worse. Alek struggled to remove his backpack while the Ork wrenched both his knife and the lodged gun away, still connected to the backpack cables.

Frantic, Alek ripped his glove off, revealing his mechanical fingers. The sharp metal edges of the fingers cut through the harness, finally tearing the backpack free. Alek let out a gasp as the backpack caught on his right shoulder. The Ork pulled away, grinning madly. Alek looked up and saw that laughing maw become embroiled in flames, the hellgun blasting apart in its face.

"Nice one!" said Kippler, breathing a sigh of relief. Now he just had to focus on Merrick driving like a madman. The boss was forcing the second Ork into the barrier. Merrick jerked the Tauros into the bike, though it looked like the spiked contraption was doing more damage to the jeep than to the Ork. The blades scraped into the edge of the Tauros. Kippler brought the multilaser around and pummeled the Ork. Merrick pulled away, leaving the driverless bike to smear itself along the pavement.

They finally caught up with the transport. Two Ork Wartrukks had latched onto it. Surprisingly, however, the number of Orks actually on the transport was substantially less than the number splattered across the highway.

* * *

><p>Hurst pulled himself around the container and finally breathed easy. Sure, the truck was traveling dangerously fast for its cargo, and there was the several large greenskins crawling over the container, but, he had some footing on the platform hitch. His Hellgun had torn loose from the backpack while he'd held onto the side, leaving him with just his Laspistol. So things were going well, given the circumstance. He hoped that the same could be said for Remer and Vornas.<p>

"I've got twelve, Remer, you're getting slow!" called Vornas. The Orks couldn't get close to them, eating grenade after grenade that blew the filthy Xenos into tiny bits.

"Eat a holy hand grenade Bor, I'm busy." Remer ducked under the Ork's swing and beat his spent grenade launcher into the beast's abdomen. It didn't do much but it made him feel happy. The Ork barely flinched before throwing a punch that hit Remer squarely in the chest, flooring him. So this was death then. He thought there would be more fear and soiled clothing involved. The Ork raised its blade, poised to ram it through Remer's breastplate. He closed his eyes.

And nothing happened. There was the sound of gunfire, but with Orks around that was hardly unusual. It was the lack of a large chunk of metal being repeatedly thrust into his chest that seemed absent. Remer popped one eye open. The Ork was missing, and the others had either jumped off the container or lay splattered across it. Beside him, Vornas shared the look of confusion.

Peering over the side, they realized what happened. As if dropped out of the sky by the Emperor himself, there were Merrick, Alek and Kippler, zipping alongside the transport in a Tauros and dishing out some serious shots at the Orks.

* * *

><p>Modren's Sentinels reached the overpass minutes ahead of time. Their shortcut across the ash wastes had paid off; the convoy was still well behind them. "This is it lads, take out the supports."<p>

The Sentinel squadron opened fire, spewing multilas shots and autocannon fire into the thick rockrete foundations and rusted c-beams. The ancient roadway began to crumble under the sustained barrage, until visible cracks began to appear in the overpass's structure. Modren ordered his men to halt, and the squadron backed off.

The bridge broke, splintering in several places as the weakened supports gave way under the weight. Thirty tons of rockrete and titanium collapsed into a massive heap, spilling over the highway under a huge cloud of dust. Modren leaned back in his cockpit, satisfied. Let those filthy traitors pass through that, he thought.

* * *

><p>Hurst wrestled with the driver, throwing punch after punch at the man and throwing him off the wheel. The driver pressed himself against the side of the cab and kicked out with both feet, knocking Hurst back. Hurst's laspistol was long gone in the struggle, leaving him with only his hands and feet to hold off the driver. Keeping the truck from crashing into anything and sending everything around them up in a nuclear firestorm complicated things. Hurst lashed out again, beating the man across the face with his metal plated glove.<p>

His attacker recoiled from the hit, bouncing back and trying to shove Hurst off the steering wheel. Fed up, Hurst grabbed the man and brought his helmet down with a hard crack. The man slumped down onto the cab floor. Wadden sighed in relief.

The Orks were still out there, peppering the truck with shots. Hurst didn't have a chance of outrunning them. He would pull the truck around and head back towards Imperial territory. That was their only chance. There was an interchange up ahead, Hurst could see the rising bridges creeping up above the road. He pushed the truck as fast as it would go.

* * *

><p>Kippler sprayed lasfire over the truck one last time, making sure no Orks left up there would get back up. Merrick gunned the engine on the Tauros, speeding ahead of the truck to deal with the Orks in front trying to block their path. He gave a thumbs up to Remer and Vornas as they passed, Remer pumping a fist in return. They could do this. Wartrukks were peeling off from the fight, but the bikers were more persistent.<p>

Kippler revved up the multilaser again, peppering the nearest bike with shots. The biker was a big one, the Boys' Nob leader. The dark green Xenos's bike was emblazoned with garish red paint and spiked decals. It was a much tougher and better put together machine than the others. It would be a tough nut to crack with their current firepower.

The Nob dropped his speed and pulled up beside them. The damn thing was grinning, thought Kippler. Rather than pull a gun, the Ork was just holding beside them. The Xenos spoke in broken Gothic. "'Ere we go! Dis iz what I've bin waitin' for, sumfin fasta! Come on, Humies, show me wot you'z got! WAAAAGH!"

"Is he serious!?" shouted Alek as the Nob pulled ahead.

"Not as serious as I'm about to get, open up Kip!" growled Merrick.

Kippler shook his head. "No good boss, I can't dent that thing. Run him down before he thinks his idea through and changes his mind."

"Frak this!" said Merrick. The Tauros shot forward. Merrick rammed the jeep into the Ork's rear wheel, trying to spin the bastard. The bike was too heavy, and the Ork peeled away laughing.

"Hehehe! Ya Humies 'ave got sum teef! Come on, bring it!" The Nob angled into them, and the two vehicles became locked in a pushing match. Merrick pushed against the Nob, who happily backed off before bashing into them again and again.

This close, Kippler couldn't get a shot off, so he stayed focused on the road. They were traveling under the overpasses, and a large curve was coming up. Several Ork bikes screamed around the corner, before pulling to a halt. The truck and the dueling vehicles zoomed past them. Kippler looked back at them before turning forward again.

His eyes went wide. "Boss! Pull back, now!"

* * *

><p>Hurst saw the rubble too late to stop. Keeping himself from panicking, he hit the emergency release for the trailer and prayed to the Emperor that it would land safely. He braced for impact.<p>

* * *

><p>Vornas and Remer stumbled as the truck pulled away, leaving the trailer skidding dangerously fast along the road, its hinges carving deep scars in the pavement. "Jump!" shouted Remer. The two guardsmen threw themselves from the container, hitting the ground hard, still being dragged along by momentum. Remer rolled over and covered his head just as the trailer pitched to its side. This was it.<p>

* * *

><p>Modren winced when the truck hit the blockade. The front end smashed through the rubble, tearing itself apart as it did. Whatever was left of the truck slid to a halt in front of them, a smoking metal hull, streaked with blood.<p> 


	11. CSMT

**Broken Things**

Remer groaned. Being thrown violently seemed to be the punishment of the day. "Vornas, I'm going to marry whoever designed Carapace plate," he mumbled. Unfortunately, he couldn't feel anything other than agony in his legs. Alive they might be, but not without something to show for it. His left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and it screamed to him. Remer bit his tongue until he tasted blood on his lips and felt stinging tears welling up in his eyes.

Vornas looked a little less beaten. He sat up and fumbled through his pack. "Hold on there, saint, this'll help." Vornas grabbed a syringe that seemed comically tiny in his large hands, and jammed it into Remer's leg. Remer's eyes bulged as the sedative flooded his body, forcing his leg to go numb. "The pain will be dulled, but we've got to get you to a hospital. I'll try to set it, but no promises."

"Saint, eh?" said Remer, his speech slurred. "I could get used to that. Lenham Remer, Patron Saint of the Imperial Guard. Nice title, don't you think?"

"Remer, you stay awake, and I'll make you Saint of the whole Imperium. Now stay still." Vornas got to work setting his friend's leg. For all he knew, there was internal damage, but he could only focus on what he could see with his own eyes. "Just stay with me."

Remer gave him a thumbs up, his head swimming in the drugs. "No problem, Bor. Where's the boom? I thought the warheads would go off for sure."

"Consider yourself lucky then, hold still." Vornas continued to work. He needed Alek for this sort of thing. A crap shot but a better medic than Vornas would ever be. He looked around, trying to see where Merrick and the others had stopped.

* * *

><p>Alek stayed back while Soras and Merrick moved in on the Ork bike. With his gun gone, there was little he could do without getting in the way. The other two would be able to deal with the Ork well enough. He hoped.<p>

Merrick nodded to Kippler, and the trooper circled around the bike, keeping his distance. The Nob lay on the road, streaks of blood showing where he had hit the ground. But the xeno was still moving. Kippler didn't hesitate to start firing as the Ork leapt upright, axe in hand. Several shots dented the brute's armor, while the ones that struck flesh it seemed to ignore.

Kippler started to run. The Nob followed, swinging his axe after him. It was deceptively fast for something so big. Merrick opened up, firing his hellgun on full auto, desperately trying to put the Ork down. Kippler would be a dead man if he didn't. He shouted at the Nob to get its attention, punctuating his insults with volleys of shots. The Nob didn't stop.

The Ork was enormous, standing half again as tall as Merrick and three times as wide. To him, a hellgun would just be an annoyance. They needed something bigger, or a way to get a clearer shot on the bastard.

Kippler jumped aside from the Ork's lunging thrust, darting behind him and running back towards Merrick. There was about fifty meters between them. He was giving Merrick an opening.

Merrick thought quickly. He switched the gun's setting to single shot, and adjusted the power output to maximum. Regulations stipulated that overcharging was prohibited due to the wear and tear on the gun's workings. He didn't care much for regulations, and a fully charged shot might be the only thing that could bring the Ork down.

Kippler had closed to twenty meters. Merrick lined up his shot. The rampaging Ork's gaping mouth presented a nice target, but Merrick waited. The gun might only get one shot before frying itself, and he couldn't miss.

Fifteen meters, Merrick gripped the trigger. Fourteen, thirteen. He inhaled, anticipating. Ten meters. Kippler threw himself to the ground. The Ork raised its axe, bellowing. Merrick fired.

The orange beam burned so brightly he had to squint. The shot sheared the Nob's face in half horizontally, disintegrating the Ork's skull, leaving only an ash covered lower jaw behind as the remainder of the brute's body crashed into the pavement.

Merrick offered a hand to Kippler, righting himself. The two looked around. "Where's Alek?" asked Kippler. The boy was nowhere in sight. They turned to the truck crash. The trailer had overturned and halted against the barrier, while the truck itself had wrecked itself colliding with the wall of rubble.

Merrick realized what happened. "Hurst," he said, before he started running. Kippler was close behind.

* * *

><p>Merrick sat in a small room, featureless save for the bare desk in front of him and the door at the other end. He had been taken here under guard the moment the response shuttle had touched down at Capital Spire. Merrick had barely a chance to see the medical teams rushing Hurst and Remer away before he had been escorted away at gunpoint. That was an hour ago.<p>

This was frakking ridiculous, he thought. Why in hell was he being arrested, at a time like this? He had just done what any decent human being would do if there was a chance to save a friend. Decent humans were in short supply it seemed.

The door opened and Captain Uther entered, followed by Commissar Connor. Uther had a weary look on his face, much worse than he had the night before. He threw a stack of files onto the table before sitting down. Connor hovered in the corner, watching over the proceedings. The first thing out of Merrick's mouth was a demand to know what had happened to Hurst and Remer.

"Sergeant Hurst was rushed to the emergency ward the moment you touched down. He has suffered a severe spinal injury and a fractured jaw. Thankfully, there seems to be no internal bleeding, so he hasn't suffered any brain damage. However, if the surgeons cannot realign his spine, Wadden Hurst will need extensive augmetics work to stand again."

"And Remer?"

Captain Uther flipped over the pages of the report. "Private Lenham Remer was released from the infirmary with a broken leg and other minor injuries. He will recover in time. That's not why I'm here, though, Merrick. And I think you know the truth about my visit."

Merrick leaned back, scowling. "Enlighten me, Captain. Usually the AA reports are done in the briefing room, not a holding cell."

Commissar Connor spoke up. "You disobeyed direct orders from your immediate superior and fled an engagement in favor of personal matters."

"It was either that, or leave those bastards with three of my men and as many warheads," spat Merrick.

Connor continued, "Your actions cost the Artemians five soldiers, five soldiers that might still be alive now had you obeyed Captain Dalton's orders. Your indiscretion required Captain Dalton to redeploy the Kydoran elements to support your actions, further weakening their efforts to clear the Hab block. These charges are undeniable, Sergeant Major."

"So you would have me just let them drive off to Emperor knows where? Do you even know where the Frak they were going?"

"The driver was taken to interrogation," said Uther. "He didn't know anything, except that his group were under orders to reach their prescribed drop off points, heedless of any obstacles. He gave us the coordinates, and General Derim is organizing a task force."

"And where would that be?"

"Angel Forge," Uther said flatly.

That surprised Merrick. "Don't we still have men billeted there? How the frak were they getting in and out, and who were they sending the supplies to?"

"That is what we hope to find out tonight, Merrick," said Uther. "However, you will will not be assigned to this one."

"I figured. So what is the plan?"

"By the order of the Departmento Munitorium, Commissariat Branch, you are sentenced to two months confinement under guard. You are stripped of rank and insignia for this time, and until such time as the acting regimental Commissar sees fit to reinstate your commission."

"Why not just shoot me and be done with it?" snarled Merrick. "Isn't that what you are supposed to do?"

Connor swooped over the table like a raptor, staring daggers at Merrick. Her voice was dangerously soft, "As the regimental Commissar, it is my duty to inspire the soldiery and uphold morale. Under our circumstances, the execution of a veteran member is neither an effective use of manpower, nor is it the ideal motivation for the regiment. The 85th is at less than a third of its original strength, and I don't intend to have that number drop any lower. One idiotic misstep by you will not jeopardize this unit, do you understand me, Sergeant Major?"

Merrick said nothing, meeting Connor's glare with his own.

"Answer me, trooper," said Connor forcefully.

"Understood, Commissar," said Merrick, letting the anger he felt drip from his words. He turned to look at the haggard Uther. "What about the rest of the squad, Captain?"

"The Daredevils are to be pulled from active duty for the time being. You're no use to the regiment at half strength, so I've reassigned the squad to upper city patrol."

Uther heaved a great sigh, and clasped his hands together, "Merrick, this is the lightest sentence we can give you. We're too few to dispense executions, and I don't want to see you dead over this. It is for your own good and for the good of the 85th. I wish this hadn't happened, but there is little we can do about it now. You will be returned to duty in two months, by which time you will have your rank reinstated and you will return to active duty."

Merrick was silent, looking away from Connor and Uther. The Captain stood to leave. At the door, he turned, and quietly spoke, "I am sorry." The cell door slammed behind him.

* * *

><p>Outside the Boss's cell, Remer, Vornas, Kippler and Alek waited. The door opened, and Captain Uther and Connor exited. The quartet nodded as the officers approached. Uther walked up to the troopers and looked to Kippler, "Private, follow me."<p>

"Sir," said Kippler. Soras followed Uther down the cell block, rounding the corner out of sight. The remaining three were left with the Commissar. Remer whistled, leaning against the wall to stay off his bum leg.

"So...what's our fearless leader in for?" he joked. Excessive bravery in the face of madness? Field commendation for talking down our most romantic command couple? Or how about-"

Remer was cut short by a vicious punch to the face that broke his nose. Connor pressed her elbow into his throat, grinding him into the wall. Gasping for air and bleeding profusely from his mangled face, Remer saw a fury in the Commissar's eyes that she seemingly only reserved for the enemy.

"Next time, it will be your balls, Remer," she hissed, letting him drop. "I am not in the mood."

She looked to the other two. Alek and Vornas hurriedly snapped to attention, taking a sudden, intense interest in the adjacent wall. Remer struggled to stand coughing and cupping his bloody nose to stem the river of red.

"See to the infirmary for that, Private," snapped Connor as she stormed off briskly. Without turning she called back. "And if you don't, it's another four years latrine duty!"

Remer finally stumbled to his feet, still reeling and not quite sure what just happened.

* * *

><p>Kippler followed Uther into the main tactical room. The servitor banks, officers and adjutants were still working round the clock, just as they had the day before. Soras was ushered into the Captain's office, poorly lit and distressingly cluttered. Uther closed the door behind him, cutting out the sound.<p>

"Have a seat, soldier," said Uther, motioning to the chair. "I have the after action reports from your little "encounter" today. I thought you would want to go over them."

Soras didn't know what the captain expected him to see, but he did as he was asked and poured over the reports. He passed them over to Uther when he finished. "Everything seems to check out, Captain. But, if I may ask, why have me look over these reports?"

"Because, soldier, the duty of reviewing an AA report falls to the acting squad leader and his superior officer. I'm promoting you to Corporal, Kippler, effective immediately. With both your sergeant's out of sorts, I need someone to lead the grenadiers. You were the only obvious candidate."

Uther offered his hand, which Soras accepted. "Congratulations, corporal, don't let me down."

"Thank you sir," said Soras curtly. "I'll see to the squad then, if I have your leave."

"Please do so," said Uther. "I'll have a your rank pins delivered in the morning. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to the tactical room. We still need to get to the bottom of these convoy raids. It's going to be another long night."

"Sir," said Soras. The newly promoted corporal nodded smartly and left. Exiting tactical, Kippler awarded himself a small grin. He might have been put up for necessity, but the act was still an honour for him. His thoughts turned to Merrick and Hurst, partly out of concern, and partly to keep the rush of pride he felt from going to his head. He had large shoes to fill.


	12. CSMT: A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part 1

**A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part One**

Night was once again falling across the cityscape of the hive. Emergency lights dotted the Golgotha and Capital Spires, marking the safe zones of the hive to all willing to heed the warnings. Within the black expanse that spread across the Dead Zone, uncontested fires burned through the crumbling hab blocks and factories.

To the southwest lay the blackened Spire Legis, a constant, bitter reminder of the all too recent past. As the Black Legion had rampaged across Angel Hive uncontested, Legis was the first of the Spires to fall, torn apart from within by the firepower of Gregor Vandis's armies and the vile corruption of Chaos. The Imperial counterattack had quickly devolved into a grueling, weeks long conflict that ended in a cruelly hollow victory.

Gren spat at the memory of the fight. Thousands of Vendolanders died in that blasted Spire, and for what? The place was still teeming with cultists, any loyal Imperial citizens were long dead, and the whole enterprise had proven to be a ruse. A full scale attack on the supposed hotspot of Vandis's rebellion, leaving the Capital Spire unprotected. How could they have made such an obvious mistake?

It was Castille's fault, thought Gren, taking another puff from his cigar. Leaving the Planetary Defense Force to guard the capital was a monumentally stupid idea. Thank the Emperor the Blood Ravens weren't so naive to ignore the obvious threat. The Guard were out on their asses chipping away at a fortified position, the laughing stock of the Imperium, and they died in droves for it.

And then Urizen happened. The closest neighbouring Hive had never been contested during the first crusade, and remained a hotbed for cultist activity. General Castille had pulled the Guard regiments into another costly campaign, except this time without the aid of the Space Marines. The results were horrifying. Thankfully the idiot had paid for it that time. There were few tears shed for that waste of flesh.

Gren heaved a deep sigh. The past weighed heavily on him, eating at his heart, now chewed raw. So many faces among the dead, faces he'd known too well to not be affected by their passing. He knew he was suffering from depression, everyone knew. He also was grateful that the rest of the company had given him space, and time to come to terms with his loss. Everyone except Flinn.

The boy was an infuriating contradiction. He'd been with Gren for years now, the youngest trooper in the Company. When there was nobody else to turn to, Flinn was always there, whether Gren liked it or not. He felt an odd compulsion to protect the boy, but the boy was as good a soldier as he was. It was sort of inspiring in a way, the young trooper and the weary veteran forging a bond. Gren hated Flinn for that. Flinn deserved better than him.

There was someone behind him. Gren turned around to see Lieutenant Naals approaching. "Come on, Gren, jump to. We're moving out, Captain's orders. The Colonel's got the whole battalion mobilizing, so get your kit and get down to The Gulch."

"Where are we heading?" asked Gren.

"Angel Forge," said Naals. "We're meeting up with the billets there and then moving onto our objective. Something about a smuggling ring that command wants us to take down."

Gren sighed, putting out his cigar. "Lead the way, sir."

* * *

><p>From the empty balcony jutting out of Urizen's Old Spire, Zephus-Hassan watched the last ebbing rays of the sun settle below the horizon, making way for the welcoming darkness of night. The next stage was in motion, sooner than he had anticipated. It would happen tonight. He spoke into the darkness within the tower. "Send for them."<p>

Whatever heard his command scuttled away into the night. It wasn't long before ten great giants, clad in black and gold plate emerged onto the balcony. Zephus turned to face the Legionnaires, speaking in an even, but commanding voice. "The time has come. No doubt the Imperium knows of our presence here, but we must allay their suspicions no longer. A show of force is needed. You, my Chosen, will lead our followers against the Imperium. Tonight, Spire Legis awakens once again."

The Astartes chanted in unison. "As it shall be, Warlord." Zephus smiled. Pathetic imbeciles, each of them. How simple a task it had been to gain their trust. The Black Legion's recruiting standards had fallen so low, it had seemed. Bestowing such titles as "Chosen" or "Enlightened" upon these neophytes had proven an easy form of coercion. None of them were Heresy veterans. None of them had ever suspected the Hassan's true origins.

They were tools, a means to an end, as all servants of Chaos were. Only the strong would prosper. The rest would burn for their Gods. The "Chosen" bowed to him, leaving for their followers. In many ways, Zephus respected the Vandis soldiery more than the Astartes. They fought for a purpose, a tenable goal. It gave them conviction, and a drive beyond the lust for slaughter. They were somewhat respectable in that regard.

But still, just a tool.

* * *

><p>The great Forge sat silent, a slowly decaying swathe of manufactories and assembly lines, stretching for miles, delving deep into the surface of the planet. There was no light, save for the reserve power lamps that illuminated Angel Gate, the once mighty entrance to the dead Forge. The Priesthood of Mars had sent their finest to nurse the Forge back to health, but the taint of chaos inflicted by the Black Legion's first, devastating strike was proving to be a formidable adversary. Every step towards reviving Angel Forge was stymied by the tainted machinery, grinding work to a halt.<p>

So the Forge stood silent, over a year since the attack. The 85th Vendoland had billeted three hundred soldiers among the warehouses as a defence against a Vandis counterattack, but none had come. Now, those soldiers, idle and agitated, were being raised from their sleep, mobilizing for a rendezvous with an Imperial taskforce. Troopers hurried to their transports in a confused daze, and within thirty minutes, a convoy of Chimeras was trundling along the abandoned thoroughfares to their destination.

The smuggler, swiftly crumbling under the power of Imperial interrogation, had described the region just south of Angel Forge's defensive wall. It was a series of low to the ground warehouses, nestled between the great fortifications and the highway leading due south to Angel Hive's lesser Spires. Below the overpass, three full Imperial regiments awaited orders.

In command was Colonel Banastre of the 85th Vendoland, "Lucky Bastard" Banastre, as the troops knew him. Castille's protege had been the only regimental commander to make it out of Urizen alive. The 85th had left the command group for dead in the retreat, instead gathering around Captain Lars Uther for guidance in the fallout. When Banastre suddenly turned up three months after the campaign, his first action had been to plant Uther in the tactical room, safely hidden away where he couldn't cause trouble.

The remaining two regiments comprised the 31st Artemian and the Dyneemek 9th, the Jagers, under Commander Lorald. Six thousand troopers, mustered to take out a smuggling ring. Banastre snorted at the response. Typical paranoia by higher ups. The Vendolanders would have handled this situation on their own, but General Derim had insisted. So here they were, in the dead of night staring at a manufactorum while chilling wind nipped at their skin. He dropped down from his observation post to be nearer the portable heater in the center of the makeshift tent.

"Must we wait?" muttered Banastre irritably. "The smuggler told us this was the place. If the guilty are truly here, then why not raid the warehouses now and be done with this!"

"The General was very specific, Colonel," said Major Lester. "We need to confirm the target when they make their drop off before we take any action. We don't have enough information to tell who we might be dealing with just yet."

"And I will do that, doesn't that offworld fool know that?"

"Well, we're technically offworlders too, sir," replied Lester, handing Banastre his mug of hot coffee.

"We might as well be locals with the way things have been going," said Banastre. He was right, of course. The Vendolanders had been sent to the Subsector over four years ago to help train the Planetary Defense Forces and ready the system for tithing. And now it seemed they had to keep babysitting a set of planets incapable of looking after themselves. For Space Marine recruiting worlds, Subsector Aurelia was frankly pathetic with regards to security.

Vox Officer Brannt approached the two officers, turning to allow Banastre to take the link from his backpack unit. "Message from Commander Lorald, sir. They've got a visual on a cargo hauler."

Banastre put the link to his ear. Finally, they could get on with this ordeal, "Give me the details, Commander."

"It definitely matches the description given by our confessor. Industrial cargo freight with an escort of modified civilian vehicles. With the Ork activity along the highways, it seems like they're moving in armed convoys. They've turned off the main route and are heading for the warehouse complex, towards your position. We'll close the gap if they try to double back."

Banastre's eyes flashed greedily. "Well done Commander, carry on." Banastre turned his attention to Brannt. "Switch the 85th's channel, wide broadcast. This is Colonel Banastre, we have a confirmation on the target. First battalion, prepare to advance and mark forward positions."

Lester looked surprised. "Colonel, if we move in now, that could tip off whoever's inside, and it might scare off the convoy. Emperor knows what sort of munitions that hauler is carrying."

Banastre sneered at the Major. "Are you questioning my orders, Lester?"

"No sir," said Lester, backing off. "I'm merely pointing out a potential flaw. It is my job."

"Then your consideration is noted. All units, continue forward. Major, if we wait too long, we lose the element of surprise. I want this over with quickly. One regiment is already overkill for this sort of operation. Now relay my commands."

Lester sighed, "Yes sir, by your orders."

* * *

><p>"What the hell is he thinking?" said Orias Nolt. The Artemian colonel viewed the Vendolanders' advance through his binoculars. "They're going to tip our hand and get themselves slaughtered."<p>

"It certainly seems that way," said Commissar Learis. The bulky man stood beside Nolt in the command Griffon. Orias grabbed the vox caster and keyed in the Dyneemek Jager's channels. He loathed calling on another unit, but he felt there was little choice in the matter at the moment.

Commander Lorald responded dryly, "What is it? Speak quickly, before I just regard this as paranoia."

"Leave your emotions out of this, Lorald," hissed Orias. Lorald was still bitter about his humiliation at the meal the other night, and Orias was in no mood to argue. "Just listen to me. This Banastre is going to get his men killed."

"Really?" said Lorald, feigning shock, "I'm surprised you can see that from back there, behind the lines. What do you want me to do about it, throw stones from up here?"

"Unlike the two of you, I am trying to take this seriously," said Orias. "General Derim would not have insisted three full regiments be sent to deal with a problem unless he was certain that the threat was significant. I'd rather have you working with me rather than against me when that fool throws the whole operation. When that time comes, I will signal you, and we can coordinate an actual battle, understand?"

The link was quiet until Lorald had his answer, "Fine, we'll do it your way. Just don't be surprised if I try to offer something as useless as my insight. Otherwise I'd just be trading Banastre for you."

Orias let the comment slide, "Just be ready for my signal." The colonel slammed the vox closed.

* * *

><p>Gren and Flinn moved silently across the stockyard, followed by Cayse and Arred, hauling a heavy stubber. Naals was further ahead with the first squad, setting up underneath the arches of the overpass. At Gren's word, the four troopers dashed across the next open stretch, taking cover in the shadows of the adjacent truck depot. The sound of grumbling engines thundered by overhead. Gren could see the flashes of headlamps just over the crest of the overpass barrier. They illuminated the dark that blanketed the empty yard.<p>

The platoon was split between the two squads, with Naals leading the first, and Gren bringing up the second. Once the fireworks started, the Artemians were supposed to bring up reinforcements to bolster the forward points established by the Vendolanders. The Jagers would control the overpass to provide coverage from above. The 7th company was spread out to cover the entire yard, with five more companies ready to storm the buildings.

Gren pressed his vox bead. "Sergeant Gren here, in position lieutenant." Cayse and Arred fed the stubber's belt feed into the catch, training the gun on the massive warehouse doors. Angel Forge was dotted with these enormous, Hab block sized warehouses, stockpiles intended for PDF forces in case of invasion or insurrections. The Tyranid invasion, so widespread, and the looting that followed in its wake had left most of the stockpiles scavenged clean or considered lost. Now, two had been discovered in one day. Gren only hoped that they wouldn't pay for past negligence.

7th Company was all in place, the lieutenants voxing in to Captain Caius. Corporal Carros and the rest of Gren's squad fell in with the others. Carros hefted his missile launcher, waiting for the signal to fire. Caius gave the order, and five missiles streaked out from the patchwork line that the Company formed. The great warehouse door buckled and blasted inwards as the explosives struck, tearing it off of its hinges. Great plumes of smoke and fire from the remains fluttered out from the blast, masking the entrance in a dark cloud.

"8th and 9th companies, advance!" barked Corporal Banastre across the regimental channel. From the second line, formed behind Gren's position, two hundred guardsmen rose from their makeshift cover, sprinting for the breach. The troopers swept by, heads low, bayonets fixed, pressing into the darkened building. They made it halfway across the flat receiving zone when the warehouse doors erupted with gunfire.

Half the advancing Vendolanders were cut down in an instant, torn to shreds by bolter fire, autogun rounds, and rapid firing multilasers. Gren looked on in horror as men were ripped in half, limbs flying and heads splattering against the ground. Casye began blasting into the darkness with the heavy stubber, trying to dissuade the enemy inside from continuing their slaughter. It did little to stem the volume of rounds flying out. The two hundred man charge was cut to ribbons in less than a minute, the whimpering survivors being picked off one by one by pinpoint shots. Then, the enemy charged.

Emergency lights burst to life, illuminating the entire area, betraying the 85th's reliance on darkness for cover. Gren finally saw the face of the enemy. They wore crimson robes and silver breastplates emblazoned with a half mechanical skull. Their faces were adorned with multiple augmetics, their eyes replaced by glowing green ocular implants. Gren paled. This wasn't right, what the hell was going on?

"Cogboys!" he shouted. These were Techguard, the Mechnaicus's personal army of augmented troopers. The Skitarii were gunning down the Guardsmen with frightening accuracy. They moved like lightning, effortlessly crossing the flat stretch just as the 7th Company opened fire. Several techguard were brought down by concerted fire, but the bulk of the force took the shots in stride, ignoring or absorbing the blasts. Gren desperately tried to aim for what looked like vital points on the mechanical troopers, firing his lasgun on full auto.

Beside him, Flinn was panicking, his shots going wide of their mark. None of them had fought the Mechanicus before, and none of them had ever hoped to. They'd heard the stories of the Cogboys personal armies, their Titan Legions, their footsoldiers. The most any of the 85th had experienced were the occasional gun servitor attached to the Enginseers that sometimes were seconded to Guard units. If a mindless combat automaton was a threat, a thinking, adapting augmented trooper was terrifying.

"Pull back, pull back!" said Gren. Cayse took a shot to the head while uprooting the gun, leaving Arred to pull the brain splattered weapon away as the Skitarii overran their position. A moment later, Arred took a shotgun blast to the chest, throwing him back into the nearest truck. Gren, Flinn and Carros fled into the maze of trucks along the loading depot. The Skitarii were pursuing, Gren could hear their pounding feet coming up behind them. The three guardsmen unloaded a full salvo into the first cogboy that rounded the corner, dropping him only after dozens of shots shattered his servos.

"What do we do?" whispered Carros. Around them, they could hear the screams of dying Guardsmen as the well placed picket was ripped to pieces in moments. Naals was screaming over the vox bead for the troops to fall back, or at least, whoever was left. "What the hell are the cogboys doing here? The AdMechs are supposed to be on our side!"

"I don't frakking know!" said Gren. "All I know is, they are shooting at us, we're dying, and we should get out of here as soon as possible!"

* * *

><p>Orias threw his binoculars aside, cursing Banastre for his idiocy. Learis had the vox in his hands, waiting for his colonel to grab it. Lorald was already on the line. "Lorald, get me a visual, what is the fool shooting at?"<p>

"It looks like... the Magos? What the frell is going on down there? Banastre's fighting the frelling Mechanicus!"

"How bad is it?" said Orias, grimacing. This was just getting worse with each passing moment.

"He's not moving, but his forward units are in a full retreat. The techguard are ripping them apart. How do you want to handle this?"

"Cover them from the top, I want height superiority. Give the 85th cover for their retreat. I'll bring our reserves up and form a line. I don't know what the Mechanicus is doing here, but we have to make them see reason."

"Understood," said Lorald. "My Jagers captured the transport. They tried to make a run for it when the shooting started. Ill question them if they know anything about the AdMechs."

"That can wait. We will question them later, once this is resolved." Another vox report was coming in, beeping frantically on the emergency channels. Orias sighed, "What now?"

The message was garbled, but after the vox officer recalibrated the receiver, the message began broadcasting clearly. "This is the 46th Armoured Vendoland, we've come under fire! The heretic forces from Spire Legis are moving against the Imperial perimeter! We can't hold for long, there's too many of them, we're spread too thin!"

The line suddenly went dead, but the message was clear enough. Orias slammed his fist into the Griffon's bulkhead. First a smuggling operation, then direct combat against Mechanicus forces, and now a full scale attack from a Spire that was supposed to be low risk. What was going on?

* * *

><p>At the head of three great fronts of heretic troops, the Chosen astartes lead their forces against the unprepared Imperials. Only a single regiment had been spared to monitor Spire Legis, and they were now paying the price for their ignorance. Thousands of cultists swept across the perimeter without regard for the mines and barbed wire. The aegis defense lines were torn open by suicidal bombers, letting the cultists surge forward.<p>

The 46th were caught completely by surprise. It had started with a sudden artillery barrage, from guns that had long been disabled. Before they knew what had happened, the heretics had closed the gap with the defensive line. At night, with their blackened armor, the heretics moved like shadows. Where resistance was thickest the Chosen applied their personal prowess, slaughtering the defenders like the maggots they were. The sudden rush was quickly turning the Imperial defense into a confused rout.

Legionnaire Marroth smiled smugly under his helmet. This was too easy. That idiot Zephus might have fooled the others, but Marroth could see right through him. He didn't think they were up to this. Marroth would show otherwise. His chain axe was dripping with the blood of these weaklings. Whole platoons fled at his coming. They didn't make it far before he overtook them.

Marroth would show Warlord Zephus his prowess. After he stood over his body in triumph, of course. He would have to settle for the screams of the Guard until then.

* * *

><p>Elle Connor was holding the line. The 4th Company was supposed to be in the second wave after 8th and 9th, but their swift end had forced her to change tactics. She instead wisely consolidated her forces, using a rockcrete wall as a line of defense. So far, the eighty or so troopers she had been given command of were holding, with the fleeing tatters of the 7th company halting their retreat at her presence. Connor stayed in cover with the men, firing her bolt pistol over the lip of the wall at the oncoming Skitarii.<p>

"Not one step back, we will hold this position!" she shouted. With Uther relegated to desk duties, she was given temporary command of the Company. To her credit, not one man had fallen back, and with 7th's remains, her small bastion was holding. She only hoped that it would last long enough for the Artemians to bolster their lines.

The Skitarii were relentless. Heavy gun servitors were laying down a wildly inaccurate spray of fire, keeping the Vendolanders pinned in one position, while the Hyspasists were firing sparing, frighteningly accurate shots. One in three shots must have struck her troopers, slowly whittling away at them. They were holding, but either through attrition or overwhelming force, they could not last forever. With the emergency distress call from Spire Legis repeating across the open channels, Connor's presence was the only thing keeping them from breaking.

She grudgingly admitted to herself afterwards that, had she known what a mess the 85th Vendoland had been led into, she would not have been so quick to pull the grenadiers back from frontline service.

* * *

><p>Banastre was screaming orders into Brannt's vox caster, demanding the forward elements of the 85th hold their ground. While he was distracted, Major Lester was quickly trying to organize the rearguard units into a coordinated push. The reports flooding in of whole platoons being slaughtered were wreaking havoc on morale. Armand was struggling to keep things under control, the Colonel was too far gone in his shouting to be any use. They needed a break in the chaos to get things back under control.<p>

Eventually, Lester was able to muster something approaching an organized unit. Leaving the Colonel to his job playing leader, Major Lester made his way to the strike group. The second battalion was prepared to move, their Chimeras revving their engines. Major Crassus was spearheading the group, and Lester joined him in the foremost transport.

"I've managed to pull enough of the battalion back for you, Lester," he said as the Major leapt into the Chimera. "What's the Colonel thinking?"

"I have a feeling you're not the only one wondering that tonight, Ertrand," said Lester. "He's too busy shouting to actually do anything useful. We've got to get more troops up to the frontline before they break through."

Crassus nodded, "And what about this talk from Legis? What's happened to the 46th?"

"Not our concern right now," said Lester. "Driver, get us moving!"

* * *

><p>The Artemians roared across the shipping depots, the entire regiment mounted up in their transports. Nolt observed the proceedings from the command vehicle. They swiftly passed through the Vendolander's reserve forces, finally assembling themselves for a counterattack. Were he under Nolt's command, Banastre would have been shot by Learis right here and now. The two groups merged into one concentrated push, facing down the growing firefight in the distance.<p>

The further in they pushed, the more stragglers from the 85th's attack they found fleeing. Many of these looked like they had fled before fighting. The Skitarii were thorough with their extermination, very few wounded soldiers made it out of their field of fire. These soldiers were fleeing for cowardice, rather than survival. Nolt sneered with disgust at their passing.

The front of the column finally met the Mechanicus forces. Orias immediately ordered the regiment to fan out and form a defensive line. They would let the Skitarii come to them, where they held the advantage.

* * *

><p>Three more 7th company soldiers leapt over the wall, falling in with the 4th company. Lieutenant Hunder quickly directed them to the other 7th survivors, covering the position's left flank. Connor had Devin and Lonnis holding the right, while the bulk formed in the center. The Skitarii were bringing up their heavy infantry for an assault on their lines. Connor could see the hulking figures in the distance, dwarfing even the gun servitors. She ducked as their heavy bolters erupted once again, bisecting a pair of troopers too slow to get down.<p>

"Commissar, we can't hold much longer!" said Devin. "Canne says the 11th has broken off the fight, no word from 12th. We're the furthest up, there's nobody else to fall back here."

"Then we stay until reinforcements are brought up, lieutenant!" said Connor. "We hold this position, now point your weapon at the foe!" Connor put on a hard face, but the doubt was gnawing at her. She hoped someone would come soon, or nobody would be getting out of here. The Skitarii would see to that.

The Praetorians began their push against the Vendolanders position. Hulking soldiers, wielding heavy weaponry in each hand, were being backed up by organized Hyspasist squads. "Brace yourselves!" shouted Connor. She hefted her powersword, readying it for a swing at the first techguard to come into its arc. The Praetorians lowered into a run, holding their heavy weapons steady. Thumping autocannons tore through their wall cover, dropping troopers left and right.

"Concentrate your fire on the nearest Praetorian!" said Connor. The 4th company obliged, pouring hundreds of shots into the foremost shock trooper. The Praetorian was undeterred by the lasfire, but three melta blasts brought the brute down mere feet from their line. The others would be on them in moments. "Fix bayonets!"

The Praetorians crashed through the low wall, knocking guardsmen aside as they overran the defenses. Desperately, the Vendolanders held their ground in the melee, stabbing at vital bionics and weak joints, trying to bring down the foe. Connor swung her powersword in a horizontal slash, tearing a cogboy's head from his shoulders. A mixture of blood and oil burst from the stump, showering over Connor. Ignoring it, the Commissar waded into the fight, hacking at the metal troopers, tearing great holes in their combat frames, bringing down a Praetorian by jamming the blade in the construct's gyro system.

But for every Techguard brought down, far more guardsmen were slain. This was hopeless, Connor conceded. But the Skitarii would not give them the chance to retreat. They would die here, either in combat or as they fled. Connor resolved to fight to the end, no retreat, no surrender. Her blade lodged in the Praetorian, Connor blasted away with her bolt pistol, delaying her fate as much as possible.

Another Praetorian was upon them, its legs replaced by a set of treads, effectively turning the body into a mobile gun platform. Connor's bolt pistol clicked dry before she could get a shot off. The construct leveled its weaponry at her. Connor closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable.

Sudden sounds of Lascannon blasts raised Conner from her moment of despair. The Praetorian was torn apart by the focused beams, collapsing. Wrenching her powersword free, she looked up to see the welcome sight of a line of Chimeras, both the olive green colours of the Vendoland, and the blue-grey pattern of the Artemians. Smiling, with a prayer on her lips, Connor raised her blade in triumph, giving a great rallying shout to the surviving members of the 4th company.


	13. Chapter 16

**A Storm of Fire and Steel, Part Two**

Lester, Crassus, Connor and Nolt had cleared out the chimera's troop bay to make a command center. The casualty reports had finally slowed, and the Vendolanders took stock of their losses. Two hundred and seventy three men dead, with another forty wounded. The 8th and 9th companies were obliterated, 11th and 7th were at half strength, and Connor's 4th were down to sixty soldiers. Still, it could have been worse.

The reserve's arrival had given them precious time to reform their line, forcing the Mechanicus forces to withdraw to heavier cover. Spats of gunfire rang out across the yard while the two armies traded blows. Neither side wanted to commit to an attack, so these small exchanges were sporadic at best. Nolt arranged the holochart projector, showcasing the relative positions of the Skitarii formations and the Imperial Guard's defensive line. Lorald's Jagers were arrayed along the overpass above, giving the Guardsmen a much welcomed advantage over their foe.

"I think it's clear that neither side wants this to go on any further," said Nolt. He pointed to the main warehouse that the Tech Guard were surrounding. "Look at their patterns, whatever is inside, the Magos are determined to protect. Often, Skitarii units are slave rigged to better coordinate with one another. Most likely what happened when Banastre ordered the attack, we tripped their alarm mechanism, putting their security forces on a defensive protocol."

"Destroy the threat in order to protect their assets," surmised Connor. "That doesn't explain what they are doing out here in the first place. The Mechanicus have been given access to the primary forge in order to conduct repairs, they were not authorized to usage of the outer areas. And they certainly wouldn't have been given permission to hoard weapons stockpiles and fire on patrols."

"Believe me, Commissar, the Techpriests willingly ignore guidelines when it benefits them," said Nolt. "Still, I believe that it would be best if we settle this diplomatically. They are our allies, and we cannot afford to lose their support."

Lester spoke up, "But what if they hold us accountable for this incident? We fired the first shot, it's likely the AdMech will want the man responsible."

"Banastre," said Connor bluntly.

"Yes, Commissar," said Lester. "he attacked without assessing the situation first, and we've paid for it. What do you plan to do with him?"

"If the Magos demand him, then I will oblige. Otherwise, I will deal with him as I see fit."

"You're the Commissar," said Lester. "He's your responsibility."

"As are you all," said Connor sharply. "Come, if we are going to talk, like Colonel Nolt suggests, then let's be on with it."

* * *

><p>Marroth crushed fallen bodies underfoot, leading a mass of cultists across the outskirts of Spire Legis. The Imperial Guard were falling back on all fronts, trying to draw them into the flat wastes outside the spire, where they thought they could hold off the Cultist push. But the Guardsmen were trapped in the confusing ruins, finding themselves doubling back over and over as they desperately tried to pull their tanks away from the surge. Marroth's followers had no such qualms, clambering over the wreckage in waves, encircling and slaughtering the Imperials.<p>

The Vandis cowards were nowhere to be seen, however. Marroth and the other Chosen had been given only the power of the cults, rather than the uprising's standing military force. Aspirants with clubs and ragged clothes formed their ranks, making up in fanaticism what they lacked in skill. It seemed to be working, but Marroth still wondered what the Hounds had in store.

Smoke and flames billowed freely through the air, casting a flaring background to the slaughter taking place before Marroth's eyes. The cultists, spurred on by their chants, drove at the Guard without pause, braving the flames to club their hated foes to death with their bare hands.

"My lord!" squealed a horribly scarred follower. The wretched man must have been seventy, what skin that was left clinging tightly to his hunched skeletal body. "My, lord, the Imperials have been broken here! They have fallen back towards one of the outer hab blocks, they're making a final stand. We have the survivors surrounded!"

Marroth made an exaggerated sniff, making sure the follower knew of the Legionnaire's distaste for his presence. "Burn them, and bring me their heads. Mighty Khorne will relish in their bloodshed."

* * *

><p>Connor. Nolt and Lester cautiously crossed the body strewn yard, keeping their weapons at arm's length to indicate their intentions. A group of Skitarii approached with their rifles raised, forming a protective circle around their Techpriest. The two groups met in the middle of the battlefield. Connor approached the Techpriest. The Skitarii trained their weapons on her, but the priest raised his hand, and the soldiers lowered their aim.<p>

"Magos Dolthem," said Connor. "Care to explain this to me? Use small words if it makes you feel better."

"I would think, Commissar," said Dolthem, "that you would be the ones that have some explaining to do. Such as your indiscriminate assault on my operations here."

"I didn't realize that stealing from PDF warehouses was covered by the Mechanicum's charter. Or employing locals to smuggle supplies. We are simply following procedure, it is not our fault that your actions mirror those of the cultist threats."

"Had Governor Derosa simply allowed me to continue with my studies and provided me the means and personnel, I would not have needed to go behind her back on this. You, Commissar, of all people should understand the difficulties of importing materiel from the Munitorium."

Connor wasn't impressed, "That still does not explain your actions here. The Priesthood is supposed to be working towards reviving Angel Forge, not raiding warehouses for your pet projects, Dolthem."

"Oh, but I am working towards preserving the Forge, Commissar," chastised Dolthem. "I doubt that your linear mind could understand the complexities of my operation, but I can assure you that it is for the Imperium's best interests."

"You'll fix the Forge using nuclear warheads?" scoffed Connor.

Dolthem tilted his head slightly, allowing his optics cluster to refocus into a glare. "Precisely, Commissar," he said plainly. "The warheads themselves are simply a means to an end, like all things in the Imperium. I have located the source of the Forge's ailment. A virus implanted in the Forge's matrix by the Black Legion crippled it's machine spirit, leaving the Forge in a state of disrepair. However, it is reversible."

Connor frowned. "Go on."

"Of course, Commissar. The virus acted as a leech, rather than a complete kill switch. The damage can be reversed, but the problem was discovering where the leech ran to. This was quite simple. Spire Legis. The situation with Angel Forge can be seen as a microcosm of the crisis plaguing the entire Hive. One extremity that is the cause of all our woes, crippling the Imperium's ability to act. All we need to do is remove the Cause, and the symptoms shall fade."

Lester stepped forward, "You want to destroy an entire Spire? There could still be people in there! You cannot possibly think that destroying Legis will fix your precious factory."

Dolthem sighed like a parent dealing with an ignorant child. "Major, you and every other person here knows that Legis was stripped clean of any loyal citizenry or strategic value long ago. It is nothing but a cancerous expanse that the Imperial Guard has failed time and again to secure. If I'm not mistaken, Legis was also quite an effective diversion. Weren't the Vendoland Regiments dragged into a protracted siege that left the Capital Spire open for attack?"

Lester fumed, enraged by the bitter memories Dolthem was picking apart. The Magos simply stared at him with a blank expression, which only further incensed the Major. Before he could respond, Nolt placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"I thought so," said Dolthem. "A worthless shell of a city, and a constant threat for every loyal citizen in Angel Hive. It's destruction will solve both our problems. You will be free to operate, and I shall conclude my business with the Forge's restoration. Do we have an accord?"

Connor turned to Nolt and Lester. "I don't know what he is playing at, but he is offering us a chance we haven't had in months," said Connor. "Even if his sob story about how this will solve the Forge problem, we can't pass up the chance to drive the Archenemy out of the Hive for good."

"You can be serious," hissed Lester. "He's already had his Cogboys shooting at us, he's lying. It's just another trick."

"You're both right," said Nolt. "We don't have any reason to trust him, but to be frank, we haven't given him any reason to trust us. We need a mutual exchange."

Connor was silent. She knew what Nolt was suggesting. She didn't like it, but it seemed as though she had no choice. Sighing heavily, she said, "Very well, I'll make the arrangements."

* * *

><p>"Yes, yes! Flee you worms! Let the embrace of Nurgle catch you should I not!" Marroth gleefully hacked and burned the routing Guardsmen to shreds. The Dead Zone was aflame, the Chosen silhouetted against the inferno like grim sentinels, bringing death to all around. This was too easy, at the slightest provocation, the Vendolanders broke before them.<p>

The fire would spread, a great path towards the Capital would be forged on the corpses of the slain. Marroth would lead the charge, none could stand before him, and all would follow behind. Victory was theirs. He could taste it on is lips.

Through the ash choked skies, three lights streaked through the air. Marroth focused on them, trying to discern their origin. The fires were too great, the smoke too thick. The leader of the "Chosen" realized too late the light's true nature.

From his high balcony atop Spire Legis, Zephus-Hassan took one last look at the doomed Spire, before returning to the summoning circle within the chamber. The Chosen sacrifices had served their purpose, whether they had known or not, it was no consequence. Stepping into the flickering Warpfire, the Spire disappeared as Zephus was transported away from that dead husk for the last time.

* * *

><p>The night sky was suddenly filled with searing white light. Moments later a muffled boom was heard, echoing across Meridian's capital hive. Spire Legis was no more than a smoking crater, reduced to ashes in a manner of seconds. The shockwave leveled its great towers, and the huge force of the blast sent a wall of flame rushing out across the Dead Zone, devastating the land for miles in all directions. Whatever was left in the corrupted Spire died along with it.<p>

Connor winced as the sonic boom reached Angel Forge. Her face was drawn, as was her bolt pistol. At her feet knelt Colonel Banastre of the 85th Vendoland. A mixture of anger and betrayal washed over his face as he stared at her, unblinking. Connor's face remained impassive.

Behind her, Dolthem watched intently. "Well Commissar, be on with it. That was the arrangement, Spire Legis in exchange for the man responsible for tonight's transgression."

"The Imperial Guard does not tolerate cowardice in the line of fire," said Connor. "Neither should it do so in the face of incompetence of command."

"He will be of no loss to you then," said Dolthem. "I am sure a replacement for his position shall be readily available."

Connor bit her lip, remaining steady. Banastre spat at her, his face livid. "I hope that you live long enough to regret this, bitch. I want you to remember this day, the day you made the call that doomed all of us."

"This day would have come for you sooner or later, Colonel," snapped Connor. "Any words you say now are merely excuses to delay the inevitable."

"Well then quit stalling, and do your damn job! You'll get yours, I guarantee it."

Connor pressed the pistol to Banastre's forehead, her finger on the trigger. She fired. Colonel Banastre's headless body slumped to the ground. Connor let her arm go slack. As far as first executions went, it was a feeling she wished she would never again experience.

Not once had Connor ever killed a soldier in the line of duty during her short time with the Vendolanders. And yet here she was, standing over the body of a fellow soldier. He may have been a useless fool, but he was still a servant of the Emperor. His blood was on her hands. And she would have to live with that.

Magos Dolthem clasped his hands together. "Then our business is concluded. I shall retire to my studies. See to it that this mess is cleaned up, will you? We both have work to tend to, I am sure."

The Skitarii dispersed, dragging their dead away from the battlefield. Connor continued to stare at Banastre's corpse, saying nothing. Lester and Nolt approached her. "Ma'am? Are you alright?" asked Lester.

There seemed little to say for Connor. "Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

><p>Author's note: So ends City Slumber, Midnight Thunder. Be sure to stay tuned as the Struggle for Meridian takes a turn for the Green.<p> 


	14. Tyrant's Trap

**Tyrant's Trap**

Below the glittering monuments and verdant gardens of Meridian's capitol, the spire is built upon layers of tunnels and passageways. Hidden from the surface splendour, these rockrete mazes stretch for miles, digging deep into the planet's crust, connecting the Spire levels, from the resplendent Upper city, to the scum of the Underhive. In the depths, violence and crime are the way of life.

The air was dank with, hot steam mixing with the ubiquitous stench of oil and sewage to create a vile soup that fills the cramped tunnels. The passage itself was filled with people, adding the odour of sweat and human waste to the already choking air. With the security curfews in place, the access routes to the secure Hab blocks were quickly turning into a logistics nightmare for the relief crews. Too many refugees, not enough room. The upper habs had already been filled, and as space was swallowed up, things became desperate. Desperate people did stupid things.

And all this, it watched, with unblinking eyes.

* * *

><p>"Look, all I'm saying is that we need some sort of motto, a regimental creed," said Remer, ducking under a low hanging pipe. The ground was covered in a two inch layer of water, dripping off the steaming pipes. "I mean, the 8th Cadian, for example. 'Mess with the Best, Die like the Rest.' That's what we need, something that'll put the fear of Terra into the cults."<p>

"What about 'Don't Fear the Remer'?" said Vornas. "If I have to listen to you any longer I'll find a new use for these pipes. A field tracheotomy."

"I didn't know you qualified for medic work, Bor," said Remer.

"I didn't," said the larger man, "so shut up."

"Calm down, you two, we're almost to the service elevator," came Kippler's voice from up ahead. Two months of Spire patrol sounded like a vacation on paper, but in reality meant crawling through tight, enclosed spaces doing the sort of work that was usually cut out for Arbites riot teams. The heat and constant hissing of steam from the service tunnel wasn't helping things.

Kippler and Alek were leading the way. They'd done this route a dozen times over the past weeks, but it was still a maze and easy to get lost. Kippler's sense of direction was the only thing keeping them from going in circles some days. They needed a change. More importantly, they needed a rest.

Merrick was still imprisoned, and while Hurst was awake again, his physiotherapy sessions had kept him from returning to the squad any time soon. So command fell to Corporal Soras Kippler. Dealing with Remer and Vornas from a position of authority had given him new respect for how well Hurst and Merrick managed the pair. The sooner the boss was back the better.

Finally reaching the service elevator, Kippler flipped the switched and leaned against the lift's cage. It would take him days to get all the sludge out of his armor. His long las he cleaned every day, regardless of location, but even it was starting to rust from the condensation. Somehow, that hurt Kippler more than a bullet wound ever would.

Alek wasn't well. Hardly a surprise, but Soras still felt the need to ask all the same. "Feeling all right Alek?"

He was clutching his hand, curled up in a fist. "Servos in my fingers are all shot from water damage," he muttered. "they keep shorting out and zapping my hand. Hurts, bad."

"I'll say, we'll need the quartermaster to look into that."

"Feh," laughed Alek bitterly. "He'll just say the same thing he always says. 'Sorry lad, I'm all out of fingers today, maybe come back tomorrow when I've got a new head for you so you can stop asking me the same frakking question every day!'"

Kippler chuckled quietly. The elevator opened up on level 225, still in the lower sections of Capitol Spire. At least they could see the sky from here, even if it was barely a slit between the overhangs and stretched awnings covering the narrow streets. People gave the guardsmen a wide berth, either out of respect or apprehension, it didn't matter to Kippler. They left them alone and didn't cause trouble, and he had no trouble with the civvies.

"What about this? 'Emperor's Devils'?" continued Remer, "Too dark? Why not 'Dare to be Better?'"

Vornas rolled his eyes. "Remer, allow me to reiterate my last point. Shut up." The big man's fist connected with Remer's jaw, knocking the trooper flat on his back. Without stopping to offer a hand, Vornas just kept walking, leaving Remer to nurse his jaw, and his pride.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes, and the line had barely moved through the checkpoint. The people were becoming agitated. It could smell their emotions as sharply as the odours that afflicted the crowd. All it had to do was manipulate them, a subtle clicking noise here, a clatter of metal there, anything that would keep them on edge. It moved around the crowd's edges, darting from shadowy alcoves and across metal gantries. Eventually, it settled on an old balcony overlooking the service tunnel.<p>

It made sure to leave subtle hints of its presence. Nothing overt, but enough to sew further fear and anxiety amongst the humans below. Fear was in its very nature, and the proper application of the emotion could lead to a cascade of terror that would allow the thing to move freely... and take it's next victim.

* * *

><p>Continuing through the slums, Kippler kept a sharp eye open for any trouble. Getting jumped by hive gangers was the last thing he needed after their patrol. He just wanted to get back to the billet and sleep, but Soras knew he'd be damned if he let his guard down for a second. The crowd's aversion to them was becoming a problem. Their distance meant the Daredevils were still in the open, even down here.<p>

"Come on, let's pick it up," he said. The checkpoint wasn't far ahead. A large line filled the passageway, but their passes would let them skip ahead. Still keeping an eye open, Kippler lead the four troopers onwards, cutting a path through the throng of people.

* * *

><p>Vikel was shaking violently. The kalma was wearing off, he was going into withdrawal. With all these people around, he didn't know how long he could last. Vikel needed to get home, he needed another stim to keep him going. The claustrophobia was returning. Sweat was running down his neck, he gripped his left hand tightly to stop the shakes. He couldn't take much more of this.<p>

Four offworlders, Guard, were pushing through the crowd, their leader's mask covering his face with a red visor glare. They were looking right at him, he knew it. They knew that he was on the stims. They were going to take him in. Vikel started to panic. His eyes darted from left to right, looking for a way out of the crowd. He had to get out of here, it couldn't end like this.

* * *

><p>It noticed a heightened tension in the crowd. Isolating the source, the watcher lay poised to strike. Any second now.<p>

* * *

><p>Vikel couldn't stop his hand from shaking. His palms were sweating heavily, but his grip tightened around the autopistol's handle. The offworlder put his hand on Vikel's shoulder, pushing him aside. Vikel snapped. "No, not like this, not like this!"<p>

The autopistol came flying out, shots going wild as Vikel desperately tried to run. The crowd panicked, people dropping from the shots, screaming and fleeing. The people surged towards the checkpoint, jamming into the tunnel to escape the madman. In seconds, the tunnel had turned into total chaos.

* * *

><p>Now, now was the time to strike. It leapt from its perch, claws outstretched, into the prey below.<p>

* * *

><p>Kippler leapt backwards when the hive man pulled the gun and started shooting. People were falling from gunshot wounds, others were screaming, fleeing from the shooter or rushing the checkpoint. The PDF officers were trying to hold the wave of people back, but hundreds of rampaging bodies were pouring over the guard rails towards the service cars. The PDF troopers began firing, vainly trying to hold back the refugees.<p>

Kippler swiftly brought his long las to his shoulder. The gunman's head disappeared in a puff of red vapour, disintegrated by the beam. "Head's down!" he shouted. Alek, Vornas and Remer dropped into a defensive position, their guns raised.

Before he could issue another order, something big landed in the middle of the crowd. An inhuman shriek droned out the terrified screams of its victims, torn to shreds by the beast's razor sharp claws. Those further away were snatched by whip like tendrils extending from its maw. The sharp harpoons pierced a crying woman's legs, and she clawed at the ground while the was dragged back towards the monster.

"Lictor!" shouted Remer. The Daredevils began firing at the skeletal Tyranid. The las shots were absorbed by the Lictor's carapace, and the grenadiers didn't want to risk firing off explosives in the crowd. The beast chased after the stream of people fleeing past the checkpoint. Between the PDF trooper's gunfire and the narrow access route, it would be a slaughter.

"Shit!" cursed Kippler. "Remer, flamer, now!" Remer nodded and set to assembling the handheld flamethrower from his kit webbing. If they could get close enough to the bug to torch it, they might force it off from the civilians.

The Lictor's claws and talons were ripping through the packed humans, feeder tendrils embedding into people's skulls repeatedly while the Tyranid fed. Like cattle herded into a slaughterhouse, they were being cut down in droves. Kippler fired more shots at the beast, trying to get its attention. He spotted something: a small, pink, fleshy patch between segments of the Lictor's bone white leg. Kippler aimed for the opening, and fired.

The shot went cleanly through the Lictor's hind leg, splattering green ichor across the ground, hissing steam as it splashed. The Tyranid shrieked, its head swiveling around to gaze at him with glowing yellow eyes. A feeder tendril shot out of its mouth. Kippler dived out of the way, the flesh hook barely missing his foot. The beast turned towards the guardsmen.

Remer finished attaching the pilot light to the flamer and hoisted the weapon up. The Lictor was limping, its right leg bleeding heavily. "Fry you son of a bitch!" he roared, dousing the monster with liquid promethium. The Lictor screeched, flailing in the burning pitch. The Tyranid collapsed to the ground, writhing in the flames. The Daredevils filled the Xeno with las fire until it stopped twitching.

* * *

><p>As the smoke cleared, Kippler looked around in horror at the massacre. Dozens of people were dead, torn limb from limb by the Lictor's ambush. Countless more were wounded, mostly, Soras noted, from Lasgun shots fired by the PDF troopers. The troopers were found trampled to death, buried under the fleeing stampede.<p>

Remer stood over the charred remains of the Lictor. "Where do you think it came from?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably left over from the invasion," said Vornas. "Who knows how long it's been down here? We're lucky we got it when we did."

"What's lucky about forty people being killed?" spat Kippler, picking up his long las. "Coming or not, I'm going home." He stormed off towards the service cars, not bothering to look if the other three were following. It wasn't his problem anymore. The PDF could clean up down here. Kippler and the Daredevil's had done their job.

He was silent on the ride back up to the upper level. When Alek came by later that evening to ask if he was coming down to the Bunker, he refused. He took his bath, and drank alone that night. Even when they did right, Soras always saw where they could have done more, but didn't. The Hive Fleet had been wiped out nearly three years ago, and it was still causing problems.

If the past could haunt them for that long, what hope was their against the cultists? If their job was never truly finished, what could they look forward to? Soras sat alone in his quarters, mulling over the futility of the past three years until he fell asleep. In his liquor addled dreams, he relived watching that monster tearing through the helpless people over and over, experiencing the horror in every agonizing moment.

Kippler doubted he would ever sleep well again after that day. And all there was to look forward to was the next dawn, and the next step nowhere.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Just a one shot while I work on the next arc. I'd wanted to do something involving a Lictor during this story. Originally, City Slumber Midnight Thunder was supposed to deal with rooting out a Genestealer cult that had survived the invasion. However, I felt that it was too similar to the first story (delving into the tunnels to deal with a nestcult), so I decided to cut it in favor of high speed road combat.

I came back to the idea of using the Lictor in this one shot to help push Kippler into the leadership role that he will be taking in the future. You may have already gotten a feel for Kippler from darkeldar's main Dawn of War 2 fic, but I do want to use these next few stories to really flesh out each of the Daredevils as individuals, not just as a group dynamic.

Stay tuned as things take a turn for the green in the next story: The Thundering 77s.


	15. The Thundering 77s: The Xenobane

**The Xenobane**

The great doors to the cathedral sank back into place with a muffled thud, showering the last few stragglers with the accumulated dust of centuries. The air was thick with incense, a heavy smell that thickened the air and clung to the skin like a film. The candles cast a warm glow over the cathedral's halls, a calming contrast to the harsh service lights in the billets. Gren and Flinn sat together on a filled pew, surrounded by refugees, holy men, and other soldiers, listening as the preacher continued the daily sermons.

In times of doubt, faith was often the only thing standing a man and his end. For Gren, at least, it helped to soothe his thoughts, help him forget what had happened that awful day. The blast, the noise, and then nothing. He and Flinn would have been dead as well, gone in an instant, if they hadn't stopped to talk to the Artemians. He didn't say anything, but Gren quietly appreciated the lad's company. Faces came and went, but his was constant. It helped ground Gren's perception of reality. Flinn would never know how much it meant to him.

Things were quiet now, around Angel Hive. Those bloody cogboys had managed to end years of constant skirmishes in one moment, flattening Spire Legis with nuclear weaponry. From there, fighting had become little more than a mop-up operation, taking out small, uncoordinated cells. The Hounds of Vandis were gone, at last. For the first time since the First Crusade, life on Meridian had returned to normal. The cost had been great, too many dead friends to count, but Gren felt it was time to put his demons to rest.

No major offensives, just guard duty. The fighting had moved on from the Capital. The outlying systems in the Subsector were the new fronts now. Meridian was a stable base of operations for the Imperium once again. The Forge was churning out supplies readily once again, and Capitol Spire gleamed ever golden, the extensive repairs finally showing progress. All things told, life was pretty good. The ravaged Vendoland regiments could at last rest easy. Starting with going back to Church.

Nobody ever said anything, but the missionaries attached to the Guard regiments were almost universally hated by the Vendolanders. Screaming fanatics, intent on 'inspiring' troopers to greater heroism, were constantly botching ambushes, betraying locations to enemy patrols, and generally being a nuisance. Gren much preferred the quiet seclusion of the chapel, where he could worship in peace, rather than under fire. Keeping faith and fury separate was a difficult task, but he had managed to strike a balance.

The preacher's sermon reached a particular line. "The heart of the faithful was consumed by the hunger of doubt, until all that remained was the instinct of a beast, unknowing, uncaring, and forever lost."

Strong words, thought Gren, as the service ended. He repeated the phrase over in his head on the walk back to the barracks. Flinn pulled his cloak tighter around himself, shivering. The cold winter weather blanketed the streets with a layer of snow, and fierce winds gusted down the alleys. "I find it amazing that so many brave this weather for a service," said Flinn.

"Faith is a strong motivator, lad," said Gren. "Emperor knows, it motivates me. What were you going to do before curfew?"

The boy shook his head. "I was going down to the Gulch to see the new arrivals," he said excitedly. Flinn was beaming.

"That doesn't sound very exciting. Who's coming that has you so excited?"

" It's the Cadians! Emperor blessed Cadians themselves, here in the Subsector. Remer from 4th Company was putting together a 'welcoming committee' for them, but most people just want to get a look at them."

That was interesting, thought Gren. Everyone in the Guard had heard of Cadia. Details were often vague, but the regiments that served alongside them universally considered the Cadians to be the best trained soldiers they had ever seen. They were a legend unto the Guard, as respected as the holy Space Marines themselves. They were an ideal to look up to, a shining example of humanity's finest.

Gren let out an impressed whistle. "Well, that does sound like fun. Perhaps I will come along. It isn't like I was signing up for Undercity patrol. Lead the way, lad."

* * *

><p>"Don't you love it how 'two months confinement' can magically turn into three when you weren't looking?" said Merrick.<p>

Hurst didn't look up from his book. "You were keeping count?"

"Wasn't anything else to do in there," muttered Merrick. "Forty two floor tiles, the left wall had a dent from a previous occupant, and the lights went out at exactly nine thirty. Meals were twice a day, seven hours apart on the dot. And they still couldn't get my release date right. I'm betting it was Connor's idea."

"Perhaps she ran out of punishments for Remer and moved onto you."

The Bunker, the Vendolander's regular pub, was relatively quiet today. The pit fights wouldn't start up until the evening, and most of the troopers on leave had gone down to the docking bay to catch a glimpse of the Cadians. Merrick and Hurst sat at their regular booth on the third level, overlooking the cage pits below. A lone servitor with scrubbers was washing the blood stains from the platform. The regularly blaring Gang-Rock music had been replaced by a tranquil piece from the Spire's artisan quarter.

Hurst set down his novel, "Really though, Gerard, I am glad to see you again. It gives me somebody to talk to while Kippler has the boys out."

Merrick took another long drink. A cold draught was heavenly after nothing but prison food. He savoured the thick lager's taste as it trickled down his throat, conjuring nostalgic feelings for a brewery on Vendoland, many years before. "Back still stiff?"

Hurst fidgeted in his seat, stretching his shoulders. "The doctor said I'd make a full recovery in time. I've got about eighty percent of my mobility back, she says. It still hurts when I strain myself, but I'll be fine."

"Mhmm," grunted Merrick, face buried in his pint. "I hope so."

Hurst spoke softly. "It wasn't your fault, Merrick."

"I know that, and I'm not blaming myself," said Merrick. "It was a bullshit situation to begin with. I made a call I thought was right, and I'm standing by it. It doesn't mean I can't feel bad about what happened to you, or feel a little bit responsible. You're my friend, and I watch out for my friends. I'll save my anger for the cults."

"And Remer," added Hurst with a smile. The two shared a chuckle.

"And Remer."

Merrick grabbed another ale, popping the cap off the table edge. Wadden picked up his book and flipped back to his bookmark. "The officers still haven't told me when they're letting me back on active duty, Waddy. With the lull, it could be a while before we get deployed again."

"Maybe I could get them to speed up the process," offered Hurst. "I could talk to the Captain and maybe convince him."

"Maybe," said Merrick. Captain Uther got along well enough with Hurst. They were of the same mind, career oriented professionals with a bizarre respect for paperwork. If Uther would listen to any enlisted man, it would be Waddy. He'd make RSM in no time, if he didn't get selected for a commission first.

"I was thinking," started Hurst. "I... have some pull back home. On Vendoland. It's been years, but I'm sure they would listen. I could make Uther give you your command back if I wanted. No need to ask, just tell him to do it."

"You really thing you can boss around the Captain?" laughed Merrick. "With Commissar 'I will stab you with my sword if you hurt my Lars' Connor standing behind you?"

Hurst shrugged, shifting his shoulders back and forth. He seemed unusually wary, cautiously glancing to the other patrons to make sure nobody was listening in. "Possibly. An astropathic message to my family would be all it takes."

"And who's your father? The Archduke of Dartour?" said Merrick, leaning back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. This should be good, he thought. Hurst threw up his hand in defeat, shaking his head.

"The Duke of Raiylis Principality, actually," sighed Hurst. Merrick was quiet as he processed what he was hearing. Hurst was pulling his leg, surely.

"You're... you're a blueblood?"

"Twelfth in the line of succession. Politics never interested me, so I joined up at the Founding Fields. Been enlisted ever since."

"And you never thought to tell anyone?" said Merrick incredulously. "You could have made Colonel on your name alone, and you're slumming it as a sergeant?"

"My family's status isn't important to what I want, and that type of thinking is exactly why I joined the infantry," said Hurst, shaking his head. "I want to be an officer, but I wanted to know how to fight and earn my position, rather than get in on nepotism. I needed to prove I could do it."

Merrick was shocked. He'd figured that Hurst's aristocratic angle was just a result of higher education, something few people in the Guard achieved. But an actual, honest to god noble was sitting across from him, and he'd never known. "Why leave your family though?" he asked.

Hurst's expression was hard, but unreadable. "It was a good reason, and one I'd like to keep to myself. Maybe some other time. It's a difficult subject."

"Alright, I'll let it go."

Hurst was visibly uncomfortable talking about this. "You don't seem to mind as much as I thought you would. Does it bother you, now that you know?"

"I don't see how it would make much of a difference," said Merrick, surprised. "Everyone is equal in the Guard, theoretically. You've saved my skin, I've saved yours. I'd say we're level, blueblood or no."

"Good to hear. Let's change the subject."

Merrick waggled a finger. "Uh uh, first, let's get another round. You've been holding out on me with all that royal coin of yours, Waddy."

Wadden groaned, throwing an extra Throne down on the table. "Fine."

* * *

><p>The vast troop carrier descended into the Gulch, the unofficial name given to Capitol Spire's spaceport. Dug into the side of the spire like a metal valley, the Gulch made the carrier look like a toy as it manoeuvred further down towards the larger moorings. The ship was emblazoned with Cadia's banner, a black and gold cross atop a red background, with the Aquila emblazoned across the center. Thruster pods moved the leviathan onto the landing platform's magnetic locks, ending with a deep rattle as the ship settled into a resting position.<p>

The platform was packed with hundreds of troopers, as well as the usual dignitaries. Despite the tremendous winds blasting through the cavern, everyone wanted to see this for themselves. The reputation of the Cadian Shocktroopers was nothing short of legendary. They were the next best thing to a Space Marine that any of the Guardsmen could hope for.

Lenham Remer was scrambling to unfold a large cloth, fighting with the cords tying the bundle together. Finally giving up, he drew his knife and sliced the cord. The cloth unraveled to reveal a banner. Remer looked adoringly at his handiwork. It might not have been a properly made flag, being patched together with hastily dyed sheets and stitched with boot laces, but he was proud of how it had turned out. Alek appraised the banner, putting on his best impersonation of an art critic. Remer pointed eagerly to the words emblazoned across the bottom.

"In Princeps Gloria?" asked Alek. "What does it mean?"

"It's High Gothic, Alek. It means 'First Glory'. I was going to with 'Death or Glory' at first, but then someone pointed out that it was the motto of the Emperor's Royal Lancers. I thought, since we're usually the first ones in, our motto should reflect that."

"I think it's spelled wrong," said Vornas bluntly.

The shaggy black haired trooper didn't seem impressed. "Can you speak High Gothic then, Bor?" snapped Remer, folding his arms.

"No more than you can, genius," said Vornas.

"So? Does it really matter? It sounds good, doesn't it?"

Kippler hissed at them. "Quiet! Here they come, it's opening. Stand straight, let's try to show a little class, alright?"

The great loading ramps of the carrier extended, exposing the cavernous hold. And out they came. Marching in perfect unison, rank upon rank of pale skinned Guardsmen disembarked from their vessel. Each soldier's green uniform had a badge on the left shoulder. 39th Cadian, 'Xenobane'. The regimental officers lead the column, never missing a step, a testament to their drilled nature. But the thing that struck the gathered crowd the most were the eyes. The Cadians all seemed to share brilliant purple eyes, almost glowing in the cold winter light.

The crowd was wild, great cheers ringing out across the assembly. Remer and Vornas lifted their banner into the air, shouting excitedly. The Cadians never broke their cadence, but it was clear that they were enjoying the attention. Small grins occasionally flashed in the marching column, even as the troopers stayed utterly silent and dedicated. The regimental band played the Cadians to a stop, marching in position before snapping to attention. The crowd's noise level dropped to a hush.

The 39th Cadian's officer cadre approached the podium set up for General Tullassar Derim and the Spire welcoming committee. Officers, adjutants, commissars, dignitaries and missionaries formed the group, nodding with respect to the new arrivals. Climbing the stairs, the Cadian commander drew his sabre, offering it handle first to General Derim.

"By order of Segmentum Ultima Command, I, Colonel Raynis Moran, present to you the 39th Cadian Shocktroopers. May our service to the Father, our Emperor, guide us that we may see a new dawn this day."

Derim took the sabre in his hand, turning it over, inspecting it. The blade was engraved with the names of former saints of the Imperial Guard, heroes of old and ideals to aspire to. At the cross guard, beginning the line of saints, was the name every guardsman knew by heart. Ollanius Pius, the Light in the Dark. A thin smile crept at Derim's mouth as he admired the craftsmanship.

Seeing the weapon fit, Derim returned the blade to Moran. "I, Brigadier General Tullassar Derim, 31st Artemian, welcome you to Meridian. Your presence here is a testament to the devotion and tenacity of the Cadians. With such news from the Eye of Terror, that you are here gives us hope. We will gladly accept your forces, Colonel."

Moran spoke plainly. "The Cadians always pay their dues, General. We go where the Emperor wills."

"Indeed, as do we all. The 85th Vendoland are the resident unit stationed here. They will show you to your billets. Colonel Crassus shall be your guide. Accommodations have been made across the upper city, I trust they will be to your liking."

Moran shook Derim's hand, but his stony expression did not change. "I am sure they will be, General, thank you. However, I need to speak with the Command Staff immediately. Colonel, I trust your men will see to the Regiment's quarters. I expect to see you at this meeting as soon as possible."

"Is it truly that serious, Colonel Moran?" asked Derim.

"It is not safe to discuss in public, General. I will meet you at your headquarters in an hour."

* * *

><p>An army of servitors and adepts began listing off billets and organizing transportation for the Xenobane, now breaking off into individual companies. Drums playing taps marched the units off towards their rides, allowing the troop carrier's munitions and vehicles to be unloaded.<p>

"Emperor be damned, look at the size of that thing!" exclaimed Alek. He was pointing towards the vehicle bay of the carrier. A colossal tank, bristling with more guns than he could count, rolled out onto the platform, followed by two more. The Daredevil's collective jaws dropped. The tanks were each the size of a small city block, dwarfing the Leman Russes that debarked alongside them.

The look of awe was etched into their faces even as the lead behemoth rolled immediately past them. From the top hatch, a crewman smiled down at them, clearly enjoying their childlike fascination with his ride.

"Never seen a lady like this, have you, lads?" he laughed. The man's accent was thick with rolling "Rs" and long "Os", with a gruffness matched only by his impressive beard. He tapped the side of the tank's turret. "This, gents, is the Baneblade, the Emperor's own eleven barrels of hell. Commander McTavish, at your service."

A Baneblade. Remer whistled, it certainly looked like it could live up to its name. While the tank trundled past, McTavish noticed Remer's flag. He squinted to read the text. "You spelled it wrong."

Remer deflated. "Oh," he said, clearly embarrassed.

McTavish just shook his head, grinning. "Not to worry, I wager there will be enough glory to go around. I'll be making my mark soon enough. "

"Is that a bet?" said Remer slyly, immediately perking back up. His mind was already working on calculating odds if this McTavish decided to play along. The tank commander simply winked.

"No sir, that's a promise. I'll buy the first round, and then we'll see who ends up covering the second."

The tank division continued to trundle towards the platform's end. Remer jogged alongside to keep up with McTavish. "The Bunker, nine o'clock this evening! We can go over the finer details!"

"I look forward to it, mate!" called McTavish before swiveling around in the turret. The Cadians on their way, the crowd dispersed. Vornas nudged Remer in the ribs.

"I think he's got you on this one. How exactly do you plan on beating a tank?"

Remer pushed Vornas off him. "I'll think of something, just you wait and see. First I've got to think up a new slogan..."


	16. The Thundering 77s: The Oncoming Storm

**The Oncoming Storm**

"Sergeant Merrick?"

Merrick and Hurst looked up to see the young man waiting at the end of the table, holding a letter. He was one of the liaisons between the Adeptus Arbites and the Vendolanders, marked by his service badge denoting him as military police.

"Yeah, what is it?" asked Merrick.

The aide handed him the note. "Message for you, sir. It is from Captain Talros, 12th Spire Precinct. He said he wanted to speak with you and Sergeant Hurst immediately. He didn't say what for, only that it was vital that he contact you. I wouldn't keep him waiting."

Hurst and Merrick shared a glance. What could the Arbites want with them? Merrick was just out of confinement, it wasn't as if they wanted to drag him back in. Getting up to leave, Merrick tossed a throne at the runner. "Here, have one on me."

"Thank you sir."

"Let's see what he wants, Waddy," said Merrick. Hurst pocketed his book and joined Merrick, venturing out from the warm confines of the pub to the cold, snow swept streets. It was a fifteen minute walk to the monorail terminal. Once they arrived, they could get some answers.

* * *

><p>The Arbites Precinct was a massive, black slab that towered over the low residential habs surrounding it. Stepping off the monorail transport, Hurst and Merrick were immediately accosted by a servo-skull, laden with scanning devices and recording software. Once the biometric scan was complete, and the two Guardsmen's identities stored in the skull's databanks, the optic cluster turned green, allowing them to pass.<p>

The Adeptus Arbites were the enforcers of Imperial Law, the galaxy spanning organization devoted to upholding the rules and regulations of the Imperium in every system under its control. They were an army unto themselves, far more suited to waging ground wars against rioting political activists and coup attempts than investigating domestic crimes. Meridian's Blue Watch police forces covered lesser crimes and local affairs, allowing the Arbites to work within the higher echelons of the Imperium.

Passing through the muster yard in front of the Precinct, Merrick noted each Arbiter's kit. They were clad in large black cloaks over a full body carapace. Only the lower half of their face was exposed from the armor, the mouth fixed in a perpetual scowl. Each carried a large riot shield, emblazoned with the Arbites symbol: a fist holding a balance scale embedded in a pillar. Not one said a word as they headed for the doors, the only sounds being the whine of patrol speeders and the buzz of wheeled vehicles in the distance. But they were being watched, not just by servo skulls. Merrick was sure of it. Better to be suspicious and right, then ignorant and dead.

The main lobby met the two with a warm gust of air, melting the snow that flecked their coats and bit at their skin. An entire bank of servitors awaited at the end of the room. Merrick and Hurst were pointed towards the building transit system. The tram traveled through the precinct, passing holding cells filled with malcontents. Merrick was reminded of his confinement. Compared to the conditions of the people in these cells, he realized that he had gotten off easy. They were little more than cages, packed with offenders awaiting the Judges' trials. If the Inquisition was the unseen will of the Imperium, then the Arbites were the public face. The crimes of heretics and malcontents were broadcast to the world for all to see, instilling fear into those who might emulate their crimes.

Talros's office overlooked the southern ends of Capitol Spire. Through the window, the still smoking ruins of Spire Legis could be seen, a radioactive pit all that remained. Captain Talros wore a black office uniform with red trim. His face appeared to have earned several more scars since the last time Merrick had seen him, back when the Hounds had infiltrated the Administratum complex. Food riots were still a concern, even in peacetime.

"Have a seat," said the Captain. Settling down in his own chair, Talros clasped his hands, looking darkly at the two Guardsmen. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you," said Hurst. "You wanted to see us, Captain?"

"Yes, I did." Talros presented a stack of paperwork before Hurst. "I have been assigned to investigate the incident regarding the friendly fire between the Adeptus Mechanicus and Imperial Guard forces three months prior. Normally, this would be a military matter settled within the Munitorium department, but Judge Percetus wanted his own report. When I saw your names on the file, I knew I had to speak with you.

"However, there was a slight complication, as I'm sure you are both aware. You, Merrick, were imprisoned, and Hurst was in an emergency ward for two months. I needed to speak to you both, hence why I've brought you here today."

"You have our medical records too?" asked Merrick skeptically.

Talros glared at him. "We are very thorough, Sergeant Major."

Hurst cut Merrick off before he could spit out a retort. "What do you need our help with, Officer?"

"Several things in this report do not add up in this report, particularly with regards to the Mechanicus's motivations. Think about it. By mere chance, you encounter a smuggling ring. It's not uncommon, but what it lead to is what troubles me. A sudden firefight between Mechanicus troops and Imperial Guard is reason enough for concern, but to end it all with a nuclear strike against a nearby Spire? And then Angel Forge, miraculously, starts working again. Nothing happens without a reason, and I know better than to assume these events are random coincidences. I want you to help me find the truth."

"You suspect that the Mechanicus is hiding something," surmised Wadden.

"I could have told you that," muttered Merrick.

"Indeed I do, Hurst," said Talros, pouring himself another cup. "Which is why I have enlisted your aid. You will help me in my investigation to uncover the truth behind these events. I can smell the corruption behind this incident, and I need proof."

"You can't seriously expect me to leave our squad for this," scoffed Merrick. "I'm a soldier, not a private investigator."

"Which you have made abundantly clear," snapped Talros. "I have already cleared your temporary transfer with your Regimental Command. Besides, you were not due back to active duty for another three weeks. Which gives you plenty of time to aid in my search."

"How the hell do you know when I am supposed to be back on duty?" growled Merrick. "I don't like secrets being kept from me. That usually ends with somebody dying on my watch."

"Like I said, we are very thorough. Your position as guardsmen gives me the advantage I need. There are still troops billeted at Angel Forge. If I go undercover with you two, then I stand a better chance of finding the proof we are looking for. I will garner less attention this way. It wouldn't look good to have an Arbitrator breaking down doors in broad daylight. A delicate touch is needed."

"When do we begin?" said Hurst, doing his best to make up for Merrick's abrasive attitude.

"Immediately. I will obtain supplies from the armory, meet me at landing pad C for departure in thirty minutes."

Talros stood up and left the room. In the hallway, Merrick voiced his displeasure. "This is ridiculous, Waddy. Why should we help this guy?"

"We don't seem to have much choice Merrick. He said it himself, it's already been cleared with Command. He's our new boss for the time being."

"I don't like getting thrown around from assignment to assignment like this," said Merrick bitterly.

"Well then you shouldn't have joined the Guard," said Hurst. "Look, Kippler can take care of the squad. I'm no good in a fight until my back is healed, so I might as well do something. Books can only take up so much time. You may not like it, but we're stuck in this, so stop complaining."

"Fine," said Merrick, folding his arms. "But I don't have to like it. I don't trust these guys."

"Nobody is asking you to. Come on, let's go."

* * *

><p>The arrival of Raynis Moran and the Cadians marked an unprecedented turnout among the Command staff. Officers from every regiment in the Hive, trailing hundreds of aides and scribes, convened at the Strategic Headquarters. Whatever Moran had told General Derim, it was serious enough to warrant this grand meeting. There was an air of anticipation, tinged with dread among the congregation.<p>

The circular room was dominated by hololithic charts mapping the entirety of Angel Hive, as well as the neighboring regions. From the speaker's dais, Colonel Moran's voice was projected throughout the hall, each chart updating to his new information. "Gentlemen, though I am thankful for the warm welcome my men and I have received, I fear that I must bring grave news. An Ork Rok is heading for Meridian as we speak."

Shock rippled through the room, people muttering to each other in hushed tones. They quickly silenced themselves as Moran continued. "Upon arrival in the Subsector, the naval convoy we were assigned to came under attack by a number of Ork vessels. Three supply ships were to follow us here. They never arrived at the second rendevous point. Before we made the Warp Jump, the ship's astropath sensed the presence of a massive anomaly. Sensor picts confirmed it to be an Ork Rok, matching our heading. We were followed."

Moran looked at Vice Admiral Zaritz, silently staring at the charts showing the disposition of Imperial Naval units operating in the Subsector. "Frankly admiral, this region of space has become a minefield for raiders, Xenos, and heretics," said Moran. "The Ork Rok could arrive at any time, and I am not confident in your ships' power to stop it from arriving."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe the word of an Astropath on such flimsy evidence?" scoffed the vice admiral. "This subsector is inundated enough with Naval ships as it is, we are more than capable of keeping our supply routes to the hinterland regions open."

Raynis didn't budge at Zaritz sleight. "I am simply giving you all this warning. The Greenskins are coming, make no mistake. A worst case scenario places their arrival here in four days. If luck and the Emperor's grace are on our side, it will be later. But we must use ever y second we can to prepare for an assault. Meridian is a prime target for the Orks, not just Angel Hive. When the Orks arrive, the entire planet will be consumed if we do not stand our ground."

"What of the Astartes?" asked one of the Corinthians. "Will the Blood Ravens aid us?"

"We cannot rely on the Astartes to turn the tide," said Tullassar, taking control of the conversation. "We are the Hammer of the Emperor, and we must trust in our own to blunt this invasion. The Space Marines have their own concerns, no doubt. If we cannot stand against the tide, then the Blood Ravens will do so alone. I am not about to make that gamble."

"The Orks are not to be underestimated, gentlemen," said Colonel Crassus of the Vendoland. Beside him stood several of his most trusted officers, including Captain Uther. Commissar Connor watched from the shadows alongside a cadre of other Commissariat officers. "The local infestations will undoubtedly join forces with this new Warboss. With their knowledge of city layouts, our fight will be that much harder."

"I concur with Crassus," said General Derim. "The Vendoland regiments have been here longer than any other. Their expertise on the layouts of the Hive will be a valuable asset in countering the Greenskins."

"Perhaps," said Crassus. " if we had not taken the brunt of our losses during that time. Less than a third of the Vendoland soldiers originally deployed here are still alive. Two regiments are in shambles, and my 85th Vendoland is dangerously undermanned. As forward scouts and reconnaissance, we can only help so much. We're line infantry at heart, sir. Our talents are wasted elsewhere."

Moran looked from Crassus to Tullassar. "The Colonel makes a strong point, General. If there was a way to consolidate the Vendoland regiments, they could form an effective spearhead unit."

"I agree," persisted Crassus. "As a heavy division, we would have enough staying power to lead an assault. Additionally, collecting our men under a unified banner would be good for morale. It would take some getting used to at first, but we fight more effectively together than split up between other units."

Tullassar stroked his chin, his face deep in thought. "The only thing that concerns me, Colonel, is the stance of the Munitorium on this endeavor. There is a reason that our regimental structure exists. If one regiment decides to go rogue, it will lack the means to effectively mount a rebellion against their former allies. What you are suggesting could potentially place too much power in the hands of the Vendolanders.

"In which case, I and others will be on hand to root out such heretical schemes in their infancy," said Connor sharply, stepping forward from the crowd. "I support this decision, if only for the fact that it will allow my charges to rebuild their squads. Too many units are at half strength, undermanned and outgunned. The Vendolanders need this. We are little more than cannon fodder otherwise."

"Then make the arrangements," said Moran. "We will need every able bodied man and woman ready to face this threat. I suggest we begin immediately."

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Lenham, he has you beat. Give it up before you lose another one."<p>

Kippler grinned at his friend's growing frustration. Remer and McTavish's contest was swinging further into the Cadian's favour with every new challenge. The night's current event was a game of darts, played with throwing knives. The bearded man flung another blade at the target board, the knife point sinking deep into the cork panel, further pinning it to the wooden wall. McTavish had landed three hits on the inner ring, while Remer had only achieved one hit, about an inch above the dart board. With the latest hit, Remer took another swig of ale, his seventh of the night.

"What I don't understand," said McTavish, "Is your lads' obsession with nicknaming everything. Dead Zone, the Gorge? Isn't it just as easy to call the Gorge a starport?"

Remer lurched over to the burly man, trying his best to look intimidating to someone a head taller than him. He prodded Grahm's barrel chest. His speech was slurred, "You want to know why we call 'em that? It's because it's fun! Why else would we do it? 'sssthe same reason why you have a motto for a regiment. Cos' iss' fun, that's why."

"And are you having fun yet, 'Lenny'"? teased Grahm. Remer was leaning into him, more for support now than pride.

"No! I'm gonna drink my week's pay away at this rate. An' don't call me Lenny. 'snot my name, an' it's not fun."

McTavish glanced over at Kippler. Soras just shrugged. With an unspoken agreement, they headed over to their booth overlooking the fighting pits. Several other Cadians had taken to the pits, carving out a slice of the competition and quickly beating down the local contenders.

The Artemians champion, "Mad Dog" Manrey, was still managing to hold his own, his maligned shape proving to be too slippery to catch. He would slide under an opponent's swing and grab a hold of his arm, pulling the man into range of his feet. Manrey fought more like an ape than a man, wild and untamed. Everything was fair game in the pits, and Manrey had practically invented a book's worth of underhanded tactics on his own.

The fighting pits were barely tolerated by Command. The arguments for stress relief and skills honing had narrowly eked out the detractors, claiming the violence promoted inter-service rivalries and grudge matches. Kippler didn't care much for the fights himself, but he wasn't about to force his opinions on the rest of the squad.

"So I expect you've seen a lot of combat," said Kippler, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Aye," said McTavish. "It's been a few years now since we were transferred off Cadia. I've lost track of how many fights we've been in. Ever hear of the Hrud?"

"No," siad Kippler, shaking his head.

"Exactly. Nobody here will remember them after what we did to those inhuman buggers. I can't wait to get my claws into the next xeno that decides he can tangle with a Baneblade."

Kippler glanced around the crowded floor. "Well, if the reports coming in from Typhon Primaris are accurate, that's shaping up to be the next big theater in the subsector. Orks, Eldar, Tyranids, you name it, they're on that planet. Makes me shiver thinking about it."

A hungry grin crossed McTavish's face. "Sounds perfect."

The night dragged on. McTavish and Remer finished their contest at thirteen drinks. Or rather, he collapsed upon finishing the thirteenth, and had to be dragged out of the center by Vornas and Alek. Kippler stayed behind to help clean up the mess Remer had left behind, and managed to skirt out into the streets just before the Blue Watch patrols started rounding up people out after curfew. His quarters were a warm welcome to the blistering cold swept streets.

Soras slept soundly that night. For once, the heady visions in his slumber were not flashes of violence, or apathy. He found comfort for a change. He didn't know why, but he embraced the calmness that had swept over him. For tonight, at least, Kippler slept in peace.

That peace would fade by the next day, when the call came.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Apologies for the late update. I'd had this chapter 90% finished for quite a while, but as Exams came on, they took priority. So here it is.<p> 


	17. Thundering 77s: A City of Bitter Faces

**A City of Bitter Faces**

Deep in the swirling eddies of the Warp, a massive asteroid hurdled towards Meridian. Whole sections of the craft had become unstable from the violent currents, and the metal decks shook with each wave of demonic energy. Yet somehow, this ramshackle amalgamation of rock and metal held together, either through mad science or sheer force of will. Such was the way of the Orks, and nowhere was their philosophy better represented than in their creations, such as the Rok.

Within the caverns and artificial hollows of the Rok, millions of Orks, Grotz, Snotlings, and all forms of the Greenskin ecosystem teemed. Under the dim and unreliable lights, Ork society functioned as it always had. Weapons were sharpened and loaded, and then tested on the nearest Grot. Riots and brawls happened in every corridor. The strong got stronger, and the weak were crushed underfoot, if they were too stupid to get out of the way. In the lower decks, where the warp shielding was not as powerful, the Boys fought the guaranteed Daemonic incursions as practice between systems. If something challenged an Ork to a fight, they would willingly oblige.

In what could be construed as the 'bridge' of the vessel, Warboss Smashface stomped around in a circle, clearly impatient. The MekBoy had shown up with some new invention, claiming it could get them where they needed to go faster. Smashface would have much rather been down roughing it up with the rest of the boys, but the Mek's idea had caught his attention. He hadn't counted on it taking so long to set up.

Smashface banged his hammer into the floor to get the tinkerer's attention. "Oi, if dis ting takes any longer teh set up, I'll get yer closer to da humies just by frowing ya! Wotz taking it so long?"

"You can't rush perfectshun, Boss," grunted the Mek. "But if my here tellyporta box works, den we'z could jump right into da fight wivvout needin' dem drop ships! Ye just walk in one side, and da fightin's on the ovva side. Instint Transmishun, Boss!"

"If itz Intint Transmishun, why iz it takin' so long teh set up?" said Smashface, growing increasingly angry. He idly smacked one of the Mek's Teknishin Grotz, sending the Gretchin flying into an exposed electrical coil sticking out of the Teleporter. The smell of burnt skin filled the bridge, and the fried Gretchin slid off the device into a pile of ash on the floor.

Smashface snorted. "Well, if it doesn't zap us closer to da fightin', at least we can use it fer cookin'. Still, hurry it up, before I decide teh zap ya too, ya git."

"All right, all right boss, jus' a few minor tweaks... cross wiring da zappa... realign da locata... kick da grot fer messin' with da wires, and... der we go!" The rickety machine clattered to life, arcing with bolts of blue electricity as it shook like an agitated squig. The Mek dusted his hands off, looking quite pleased with himself. "Isn't she beautiful, boss? Nuffing but hard work an' a couple dead grotz to make da best tellyporta in da clan!"

Smashface still wasn't convinced. He sniffed derisively at the machine. "But does it work?" he demanded, prodding one of the tesla coils. The electrical shock made him quickly reconsider touching other parts of the device. "How do ya make it send ya where you want to go?"

"Ooh, just like dis, boss!" exclaimed the Mek, pulling up a large screen attached to the teleporter with enormous cables. Playing with an array of dials, the Mek explained the teleporter's function. "With dis here Gitfinda, we can send da boyz to da biggest fightin' spots right fast. So says I type in "humies", da Tellyporta finds da biggest clump and sends ya der! Foolproof!"

"Evah done it?" said Smashface, arms crossed. The Mek looked rather sheepish. Around him, his Grot aides slowly receded into the shadows, anticipating trouble.

"Er, well, not yet boss," admitted the Mek, hands in his pockets. "We needz a few test grotz first."

Smashface leered at the Mek, a big toothy grin forming on his huge jaw. The Grots scattered. When the Boss smiled like that, things usually ended with somebody pasted to the floor. Smashface smacked his meaty hands together menacingly. "I don't fink a Grot'z needed, Mek. I fink dat da perfect candydate iz standin' right in front'o me."

The Mek looked around, confused. "Der's no one here 'cept me, boss."

"Exactly."

Before the Mek realized what trouble he had just landed in, Smashface grabbed the scientist Ork and shoved him onto the teleport pad, locking him in the machine. "I fink dat dis' is da perfect time fer a test run! Wot do you say?"

"What?" shrieked the Mek. "Boss, I hasn't calibrated da tellyporta te work in da Warp! It's no tellin' where I'd end up if we fired dat fing in here!"

Smashface wasn't listening to the Mek's pleas. He was too focused on trying to figure out all the different dials on the console. Settling on a convincing looking combination of buttons, the Warboss hit the big red button marked "activate". The Mek's cries were drowned out by the intense whine of the teleporter, rising to full power. The Ork was enclosed in a brilliant orange light, culminating in a massive exploding burst that blinded the whole room.

Things went dark, sparks flying from circuit boards and light fixtures. The intense energy drain of the contraption had blown the deck's fuse boxes, leaving a significant portion of the ship in darkness. There was a loud clang in the blackness, and the whining machine spluttered to a stop. The Grots hiding behind the consoles produced a small emergency light.

"Zog it, lookit wots left!" exclaimed one of the Gretchins.

Shining a light on the center of the room, the Greenskins surveyed the remains of the teleporter. The pad was gone, along with a large chunk of the control console. What was still there was scorched black and mangled in a pile, mashed together like a miniature black hole had formed in the room. Smashface stood unflinching in the middle of the blast radius. He spat out one of his tusks, and turned around to face the Mek's assistants. His face was slashed with embedded shrapnel, bleeding from every cut. To the Grots, he was possibly the scariest looking thing they had ever seen in their short lives.

"So, I take it da fing won't be ready fer a while?" he said to the smaller Greenskins. "Fix it, or you lot will be da next group te go through, got it?"

"Yes, Boss, right away Boss!" said the Grots hastily, snapping off salutes. Smashface grunted, half stumbling out of the room. The Grots wandered over to the teleporter, inspecting the warped ball of metal. "Wot do you fink happened to da Mek?"

"I dunno, but I fink dat da Mek will be hoppin' mad wherever he ends up."

* * *

><p>"Get up, we're leaving."<p>

Lieutenant Pierce stormed down the length of the barracks, banging the butt of his lasgun on each bunk to get the troops' attention. Beryn groaned, lurching upright. Stretching his arms and heaving an exaggerated yawn, he asked, "What for, sir?"

"There's an Ork Rok inbound for Meridian," said Pierce curtly. "It was supposed to be here in a few days time, but it decided to give us a surprise welcome. Get your kits together and meet me down by the transit station in twenty minutes. Anyone dragging their heels can take it up with the commissariat. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" responded the platoon.

Beryn jumped to his feet, grabbing his battle dress from the lockers. "All right, lads, you heard the Lieutenant. Hop to!" The rest of the platoon gathered their gear and scrambled out of the barracks. The entire complex where they were billeted was bustling with activity, everywhere Beryn looked, more soldiers were spilling out onto the streets, laden with gear. Dozens of other squads soon joined them along the promenade that lead down to Angel Forge's rail station. Engineseers and other techpriests raced towards the station to help load the trains.

The Colonel's voice boomed across the PSA system, interrupting morning sermons. The Vendoland regiments housed in the Forge area were being relocated to Golgotha Spire, two hundred kilometers southeast. Beryn helped the platoon load their gear into the already stuffed boxcars, even as a small army of loading cranes lifted the regiment's armored vehicles onto several flatbed cars behind them. Kalan hopped up beside Beryn, pulling troops onto the train, already beginning to pull out of the rail yard.

The 46th Vendoland was moving out in its entirety. The five hundred survivors of the Legis disaster loaded onto six trains and pulled out of the station. The organized chaos vanished as soon as it had occurred, allowing a heavy silence to fall over the yard. As if nobody had ever been there, the train yard lay silent. But the departure had not gone unnoticed.

* * *

><p>Three figures skulked out of a nearby alley, checking for any watching eyes. When none were found, they dashed across the promenade and forced their way into the station's service room. Merrick, Hurst and Talros crouched in the alcove below the stairs leading to the observation deck. Above, a bank of servitors aided the techpriest in organizing the Vendolander's mobilization.<p>

Talros was dressed in the olive green uniform of the Vendoland regiments, same as Hurst and Merrick. The Arbiter's deception went even further than just the dress. He even carried himself differently. Gone was the proud, arrogant stature of a social elite, replaced with the slumped shoulders and weary scowl of a tired soldier. Talros had slid into his role as a grunt trooper like a second skin. However, that was before the sudden alarm that had robbed them of their cover. The Mechanicus would not tolerate three supposedly deserting troops wandering around the Forge after their comrades had left.

"This complicates things somewhat," whispered Talros. "We will need to apply an extra level of discretion."

"What are we looking for, exactly?" asked Merrick.

"Anything that can implicate the Mechanicus in an act of treason. Even they are not above Imperial Law, and I intend to see justice served."

Hurst peered over the lip of the stairwell, laspistol gripped tightly. The servitors paid no attention to the intruders, continuing their automated functions. The Techpriest was gone, however, and that worried Hurst. A priest could have any number of augmetics applied to aid in hearing or security, enough so that there was no chance of not being noticed during their investigation. His disappearance could be anything from moving to another station, to sounding the alarm.

The trio moved silently through the observation room, searching for any trace of the priest. The sound of emergency sirens suddenly blared throughout the Forge. The floor beneath them started to shake, and Merrick lost his balance. A loud hum filled his ears as he got to his feet. "What just happened?" he demanded.

Hurst and Talros looked out the window. "We have a new problem, gentlemen." Merrick looked to where Hurst was pointing. The sky was a hazy red film, stretching out across the entire Forge. The constant humming in his ear rippled and cracked as the red sky touched down on an array of pylon towers built into Angel Gate's defensive wall.

"They've installed a void shield," said Talros.

"And trapped us inside with them," muttered Merrick.

* * *

><p>The train rumbled across the industrial wastes, Capitol Spire dissolving into the horizon. The 85th Vendoland had joined the armored units from Angel Forge by midday, forming a massive train convoy racing towards Golgotha. Remer struggled to keep his stomach down while the cars clattered along the rails. The morning had not been kind to him, evidenced by his pale, contorted face. "All right, new regiment slogan: Drink when you're dead, it'll hurt less," he groaned.<p>

"That doesn't really strike me as an inspiring motto, Remer," said Kippler.

"Where's the boss and Hurst at, anyways?" asked Remer, "Doesn't this seem like the sort of thing that Connor would shoot them for missing?"

"I already told you, Captain Uther gave me command of the squad until such time as Sergeant Merrick and Sergeant Hurst are returned to active duty," explained Kippler. "It's already been cleared with regimental command."

Remer sniffed, "I must have been throwing up at the time, because I missed all of that."

"Deal with it, Remer," said Vornas, prodding the sick trooper a little harder than was necessary. Remer's stomach finally bested him, and only a swift elbow to the boxcar window saved the Daredevils from being covered in vomit. Kippler sighed, going back to cleaning his scope.

Lieutenant Jorin Hunder marched down the center aisle of the car in full dress. "All right grenadiers, we are twenty minutes out of Golgotha Spire. The staging area is to be treated as a combat environment, so I want each of you combat ready the moment we debark. Daredevil Squad, you are reporting to Major Lester for assignment. Trench Skippers, you're with me, suit up."

The wastes gave way to steadily growing structures that formed the base of Golgotha. The settlement was built atop a large hill, and, though technically labeled a Hive Spire, the center was instead formed out of a number of rounded towers surrounding a massive Imperial Shrine. Golgotha was both the holy center of Angel Hive, and its largest distribution and storage facility. The loss of such a place was an unacceptable to the Imperium.

The train station was packed with trains unloading thousands of troops and equipment. Kippler jumped off the train as it came to a halt, sprinting across the hard concrete with the rest of the squad on his heels. Major Lester was pouring over a hololith chart of Golgotha with the regiment captains. Three points of attack were marked out on the map, each covering a sector of the warehouse district.

"Ah, Corporal, you're here," said Armand. He immediately enlarged the center marker, revealing the large canal that separated the warehouse district from the main spire. "The Orks last projected point of landing was directly south of the Spire. They know our stockpiles are within the warehouses, and they won't risk destroying anything they can loot and use against us."

"So you need us to soften up the forward units and secure the entries to the Spire," said Kippler.

"Exactly," said Armand. "The Navy is providing air support, but we fully expect the Orks to strike from anywhere. The local ferals will certainly join with the attacking bands, so there's no guarantee that our rear lines will be safe. Get high, and use your vantage points to spot for the artillery."

"And the rest of the company, sir?"

"The regiment is moving as a whole, Corporal. We have been assigned to the Southeast Sector, along with the Xenobane and Garredyne Rifles. This is a take and hold mission, we hole up and let the Greenskins come to us. It's going to be hell in here, but right now it's our only option."

Another trooper jogged over to the meeting. He bore a Corporal's badge as well, but the regiment mark was from the 46th. "Corporal Mathis, reporting as you requested, sir," said the trooper, saluting to the assembled officers.

"Glad you could make it, trooper," said Lester. "Kippler, this is Beryn Mathis. By Command's orders, all Vendoland regiments have been merged to recoup losses and consolidate our people. Mathis's squad will join with yours. The Daredevils have been operating at half strength for too long. It's about time you started looking like a proper unit again."

"Understood, Major," said the two corporals in unison.

"As you were then," Kippler saluted and left to gather the squad. He ordered Mathis to do the same, and a few moments later, the newly reinforced Daredevils had assembled around the station's notice board. Ten troopers, some clad in Carapace, others merely in flak jackets, were introduced to one another. Joining the Daredevils were Donny Serrt, Kalan Garrett, Mol Lannik, Tal Rejor, Jann Tarls, and Beryn Mathis.

"I don't think we've had this many men in our unit since Typhon," said Alek, thinking back to the titanic struggle on the sickly green plateau three years earlier. The Tyranid invasion had pulled the 85th Vendoland across the subsector, responding to a simultaneous Ork Waaagh!, Hive Fleet, and Eldar incursions. It had taken a heavy toll on the Guardsmen, to the point where the 203rd Regiment, Alek and sergeant Merrick's original unit, had to be folded into the 85th, much like the other Vendolanders had done now.

"Please, don't remind me of Tyranids right now, Alek," said a still pallid Remer. "Too many legs, to many mouths, makes me shudder to think of them."

"Try having a nuke explode over your head," said Serrt, hefting two cases of bolter shells over his back. The bald Guardsman's face had been half burned off, replaced with the same, primitive style of augmetics that had fixed Alek's hand. An unblinking white optic stared at Remer. "I would take a thousand hive fleets over another Legis. But you wouldn't know what that feels like, would you? You look like you'd have spent that night being drunk."

"For your information, gearhead," growled Remer, "I broke both my legs that day being chased by Orks, before crashing into a barricade. I spent the night in a hospital bed."

"You broke one leg and were out of the hospital by evening," said Vornas, stepping in. "Stop trying to sugar coat it. You got off easy."

Serrt just sneered at him. "Ah yes, the 'smuggling conspiracy'. How did that turn out? You managed to stop one Deathstrike Missile from being used. Maybe if the other regiments around this damned Hive had done their jobs in the first place, perhaps none of those missiles would have ended up frying us. Sure, you just got off easy. And what about us, then? Your little Commissar bitch decides that the best way to stop a fight with the Mechanicus is to fire a frakking nuclear warhead at us! What bloody sense does that make, and why the hell should I have to take lip from a little shit like yourself?"

Beryn put a hand up to Serrt, "That's enough, Donny. You know as well as I do that we would all be dead if the Cogboys hadn't fired at Spire Legis. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Remer didn't start this fight, so calm down. Keep your anger for the Orks, not for each other, is that understood?"

Serrt's face didn't change, nor did his immediate disdain for Remer dissipate. Beryn repeated himself, more firmly. "Is that understood, private?"

"Understood, Corporal," Serrt said flatly.

"Good, now get back to work, the truck will be here shortly. We have a few hours until the Orks arrive, let's make the most of them." As he walked away, Beryn called out over his shoulder. "And if I catch either of you going at it again, I'll have you both marched in front of the Commissar, so knock it off!"

* * *

><p>The moon Harkoven was the largest celestial body orbiting Meridian. It currently housed those remaining nobles and House Lords that had been savvy enough to flee the war torn surface of the planet in the early days of the Vandis Heresy. The luxurious lunar resorts were fortified as well as any military complex, blanketed by layers of shields and automated defense turrets. Retractable ceramite shields currently lay open, providing their wealthy benefactors with a magnificent view of the Hive World below.<p>

Beyond the moon's resorts, extensive monitoring equipment and relay stations dotted the lunar surface. On the far side of the satellite, Vice Admiral Zaritz's forces waited, hidden against the backdrop of stars by Harkoven's shadow. The rear admiral fidgeted on his frigate's observation deck, watching the comm systems intently for the first sign of Greenskin vessels. When they arrived, the first battle would be his. And yet, despite the arrogant show he had played at the military briefings with the Guard leaders, he privately acknowledged that he was in over his head.

Because of the ravaged nature of the subsector, Zaritz's naval presence was stretched too thinly to effectively patrol and engage marauding vessels. Battlefleet Korianis was currently engaged in actions along its western borders, leaving Zaritz's Oberon Battleship only a handful of frigate level craft to watch over his slice of the Eastern Fringe, Subsector Aurelia. The majority of the ship under his command were out chasing phantom ships, or escorting convoys. A full blown Ork invasion would sweep away Meridian's meager defenses like a flood washing away foundations.

He had witnessed Battlefleet Korianis's struggle with the Hive Fleet, and he knew that, even with the Astartes' bio-toxin, the battle had only been just won by a hair's breadth. With a force less than a tenth that size, Zaritz was expected to hold off a comparable threat, and without the aid of the Space Marines. It was all he could do to keep panic from setting in. Then, the moment arrived.

Harkoven's auger arrays had detected a Warp rupture in the vicinity of Meridian. The ship's systems quickly confirmed the entity as an Ork Rok, an asteroid that doubled as a dreadnought. Dozens of smaller ships had followed the great construction through the Warp, forming a formidable fleet. The small Imperial armada remained hidden, awaiting Zaritz's command to strike. Attacking a ship that large head on was tantamount to suicide. They needed to wait for the right moment.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Do you know what happens when your internet dies for a week? You get back to writing. Have at it.<p> 


	18. Thundering 77s: Planet Fall

**Planet Fall**

"Attention, Imperial Citizens, Xenos attack imminent," Derosa's voice boomed over loudspeakers, breaking the early morning silence. "Proceed to your nearest Hab Shelter and await further instructions. Display identity badges at all times. Report Xenos sightings without delay. Imperial Guard units are moving to intercept.

"It is the responsibility of all under the Emperor's light to report Xenos activity to the nearest authorities. Failure to do so will be deemed an act of heresy. Vigilance in these dark days will be our greatest asset. Fear not the Alien, for he is beneath you, beneath all of us. Through our iron resolve, our great cities shall be kept safe! In the Emperor's name, we shall be triumphant!"

* * *

><p>Zaritz was losing the fight in space. The Ork fleet had raced towards Meridian, firing relentlessly at the communications satellites, fleeing ships, and any other juicy targets. But when the Rok had begun strafing Harkoven, Zaritz's composure broke. Surely they had been spotted. Rather than wait for the Orks to pass before striking the rearguard of their fleet, Zaritz panicked, thrusting his task force into direct combat with the Xenos. The Battleship <em>Ameratus<em> stormed forward at the head of the fleet.

The eight kilometer long warship was designed to operate alone, used in sector patrols where allocating further battleships would be a waste of resources. Bristling with lance weaponry, gun batteries and a healthy complement of attack craft, in the right hands, an Oberon could overcome most threats with minimal damage. But such determination was only provided by the officer commanding the vessel. Zaritz was not one such individual. He could not handle the feedback loop the ship was funneling into his mind, attached to the vessel's machine spirit through a series of cables connected to his skull.

His woefully outnumbered ships drove recklessly at the massive Rok, every last wing of attack craft launching at once, lances firing ceaselessly, and all batteries unleashing their volleys. Wings of Starhawk bombers streaked out from the _Ameratus's_ hangars, tearing a path through the rickety Greenskin fighter bombers that swung about to receive them. Squadrons of Fury interceptors tangled with the Ork crafts, disregarding coordination in favor of a mindless, swirling ball of weaving and spinning starfighters.

It was utter carnage, playing out against the silent vacuum of space. Zaritz's unrelenting assault against the Orks was doing tremendous damage to the Greenskin ships, but the toll it took on his own vessels was swiftly ramping up. A formation of six Cobra Destroyers, racing around behind the Rok, were suddenly obliterated as the asteroid's defenses awakened. The large, jagged outcroppings that Zaritz had taken as mere surface details on the Rok retracted to reveal a vicious array of heavy weapons batteries. Before the Destroyers had a chance to orient their ships away from the Rok's guns, the missile salvos struck each Cobra along their spindly broadsides, pummeling their shields before snapping the ships in two in a series of brilliant, silent detonations.

_Arematus _suddenly found itself missing a third of its escort craft. The Battleship's shields were still holding steady from the Kroozers constant barrages, but Meridian's orbit was fast losing ground to the Greenskin pressure. Zaritz watched the massacre unfold in front of him, his eyes glazed over, staring blankly through the Battleship's transparent metal windows. Zaritz's comm officer bellowed at the admiral for orders, but he never heard the man. Zaritz sat frozen in his chair, unable to think clearly, and incapable of responding. Flying sparks ignited a series of fires across the bridge, and several crewmen rushed to extinguish the blaze.

First Officer Marhawk watched the disaster unfold, doing his best to rally the crewmen and bridge operators. Zaritz's own negligence had caused enough damage, they didn't need the rest of the vessel falling into disarray. "Back to your stations!" barked Marhawk, "You are Naval officers, act like it!"

The crew either did not hear, or did not care about Marhawk's words. Sighing, Marhawk quietly motioned to a dark figure, lurking in the shadows behind the Admiral's throne. The man nodded, casually pulling his ornate laspistol from its holster and aiming it at Zaritz head. The shot echoed across the bridge, drawing the attention of the crew. The Fleet Commissar spoke plainly. "All shall do their duty or face my judgement. Commander Marhawk, you are in command now. Do not follow in your predecessor's footsteps."

Two ratings pulled the limp body of the Vice Admiral out of the chair, now splattered with blood and brain matter. Marhawk swept the worst of the mess aside, and seated himself on the throne. The device's mechanical fixtures extended, attaching to several wire placements embedded in his cranium. Marhawk shivered with the sudden surge of energy as the couplings activated, and suddenly, his consciousness was one with the _Arematus._

He could feel the ship's wounds, the deep gullies scored by direct shots from the Ork Rok's batteries. The remainder of the fleet's ships spoke to him through their captain's mental links. It was time to turn events to their favor. Marhawk remained calm, speaking through the Astropathic Relay to the other captains. "All remaining ships, pull back to the _Arematus, _Delta Helix Formation. Drop to Grid 17 and await my signal."

The flotilla obliged, forming up into a three layered triangle, with the Battleship taking the spear point position in the center layer. The Orks had wisely pulled back from the combined forces, instead focusing on breaching Meridian airspace. Marhawk knew he could not stop the invasion now, but he could still prevent the Orks from escaping. If the Orks wished to land, they would do so, but on the Navy's terms. They would crash the dreadnought before they let them land.

The time was right. The Orks had moved sufficiently far enough away for Marhawk's plan to unfold. The Delta Helix formation involved a multi layered spearhead that struck an individual target by circling around a target and unleashing a cascade of broadsides into the ship. The continuous motion of the maneuver made it difficult for the target to track the multiple vessels, and with the proper timing, the overlapping helixes would allow ships to cover one another with their shielding. All through the movement, the ships would endlessly pour fire into the enemy ship. The maneuver required precise timing to avoid collision at such close range, but done properly, any ship caught in the center was invariably doomed.

"All ships, engage!" roared Marhawk. The ragged fleet formed up on the Battleship, forming their three layered triangle. A squadron of Ork Kroozers fell back to intercept them, only to face a punishing volley of lance blasts that seared their cobbled together hulls, obliterating them. The Rok's short range defenses began lighting up, anti strike craft weapons and point defense batteries arcing out from the misshapen vessel. Concentrated shots from the Frigate squadrons silenced a number of guns, taking only minimal losses in return.

At the crest of the Rok, the second phase of the maneuver began. The three delta formations split off in opposing directions, circling the Ork craft and unleashing punishing fire on the Xenos. Entire decks were opened to the vacuum of space, tiny specks of Greenskins being blown into the void by the sudden decompression. Marhawk's plan was working, and the commander rewarded himself a small grin. He would be a hero for this, surely. There was nothing that could stop the organized might of the Imperium.

The Rok's defenses claimed few ships in the second engagement. The disciplined naval crews had all but stripped the vast ship of its defensive armaments, leaving it little more than a mobile hunk of metal and stone. Marhawk pushed his advantage, targeting the Rok's primary engine clusters. The _Arematus's_ forward lance cannons disintegrated the thruster packs in a brilliant explosion. The Rok began to break apart, massive explosions rippling through the ship's superstructure.

"The rest of the fleet is breaking off, Commander!" said the now elated Comms officer. Cheers echoed across the bridge, and Marhawk breathed a sigh of relief. With their flagship gone, the remaining Ork Kroozers had scattered in confusion. It was typical of their race. With no central leadership, they would be as confused as a grox calf separated from its herd. Marhawk proudly ordered the frigates to pursue the fleeing vessels, intent on scouring the skies of anything green.

* * *

><p>The shattered Rok drifted along Meridian's axis, occasionally sparking and bursting into flames as deck seals burst. Within the mangled innards of the largest chunk, the former Mek's Grot assistants were clawing their way through the ductwork. Snigrot, their current leader, was leading the rest of his minions deeper and deeper into the bowels of the dead ship. Kicking a floor grate open, the Grots clambered into a large antechamber, dominated by a massive coil. The device sparked with electricity, the bulb on the end arcing towards sinks in the chamber's walls.<p>

Snigrot gave the Grots a sharp kick. "You rememba wot da mek said! If da ship evah gets too dakka'd ta fight, we'z was supposed to meet 'ere, and turn dat fing on!"

The Gretchin on the receiving end of Snigrot's foot spoke. "But wot does it do? Da Mek nevah told us!"

Snigrot gave him another kick, sending the sap yelping away. "Idiot! Da Mek wouldn't tell you lot, you'z all too dim to undastand da propa tech! Only I know how da fing works! Now turn it on!"

Somewhat reluctantly, the Grots got to work. Snigrot watched with anticipation as the coil ignited, bathing the room with blue electrical bursts. The device was working. Of all the Mek's madcap inventions, this one had to be Snigrot's favorite. Who needed a personal teleporter when you could be everywhere at once?

* * *

><p>The third Kroozer had barely made the Warp jump by the time <em>Arematus<em> had finished off its two allies. The chase had taken them to the edge of Meridian's space, just beyond the moon of Forestal. Though battered and bloodied (in no small part to Zaritz's inept performance), Marhawk had managed to achieve a hard fought victory for the Imperium. The Ork forces had been driven off at the cost of many lives. But it was worth the effort. Billions more would have died if not for their sacrifice.

"Attention fleet, break off pursuit and return to Meridian orbit," announced Marhawk. There was no sense in continuing the chase. The Greenskin Kroozers would pose little threat on their own, nothing that convoy escorts could not fend off. Hauling the remains of the Rok away before their orbit decayed would be their priority. "Lieutenant, contact Meridian ATC and relay our scans of the Xenos debris."

"Aye sir," said the Comms officer. After recounting his orders to the Air Traffic Control station, the Lieutenant's face morphed into a look of horror as he listened to their response. The lieutenant looked up to Commander Marhawk, fear in his eyes.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" demanded Marhawk. "Speak!"

"It's... it's the Greenskin ship, sir," said the officer weakly. "The Rok has set a collision course for Angel Hive."

Marhawk was aghast. The Commissar looked on impassively, watching the conversation from the shadows. "Impossible, we disabled their propulsion systems! How could they possibly alter their vector?"

"I don't know sir, but nearly thirty large sections of the Rok have altered course somehow. We are too far out to intercept them."

Marhawk quickly contacted the fleet. "This is Commander Marhawk, all ships, make for Meridian at full speed! Arrange yourselves in a geosynchronous orbit directly above Angel Hive, fire support pattern Gamma. We're not out of this yet!"

* * *

><p>The grey sky was suddenly broken by a rain of fiery meteors. Breaking through the cloud cover, dozens of kilometer long rocks and metal frames were careening towards the surface of Meridian. The Orks had somehow reset their collision course with Angel Hive, throwing the split remains of their Rok at the planet with the use of some tractor beam device. Hundreds of smaller meteors, each filled to the brim with battle ready Boyz.<p>

At their approach, the mighty void shields protecting Capitol Spire and Angel Forge activated, blanketing the vast complexes in a layered defense impregnable to all but the most powerful weapons. Planetary defense fortresses unleashed their salvos into the sky, missile barrages and flak turrets firing ceaselessly into the shower of Xenos vessels. The Navy air force squadrons scrambled to their fighters and gunships, taking to the skies to intercept the swarms of Ork aircraft that had followed their dying Rok into the atmosphere.

Valeris Hexus leapt aboard her Thunderbolt fighter, rocketing out of the Golgotha 3 Defense Fortress's hangar. Helios Squadron formed up at a level flight three thousand meters above Temple Hill, the tallest landmark of Golgotha Spire. Calling in, Valeris rambled off her call-sign. "Helios 2, standing by."

Squadron Leader Tyrell addressed the squadron. "All right, Helios, set course for heading Argus Two Four Niner. We're flying air superiority for the ground forces over Southeast Sector Grid 11. Gun Crew 77 will provide surface fire to bottle the junkers up. We form up with the 833rd Joint Interception Wing at Grid 11. Emperor's eyes on the skies, comrades."

Helios squadron peeled to the right, towards the inland hab blocks. Four significant Xenos constructs broke the cloud cover, melting the billowing snow with the heat of re-entry. 833rd Wing assembled at the coordinates, a mixed unit with both Thunderbolt Fighters and Marauder Bombers. The Bombers would act as mobile gunships and command centers, diving into the thick of Ork airspace as bait, while the Thunderbolts would pounce on the fighters that would close in on the slow moving targets.

"Flight two, engaging!" said Valeris. Half the Helios squadron banked left after her, six fighters in a diamond formation. The Mars Pattern-47 Thunderbolts had only recently been shipped into Meridian, but Valeris already adored the updated model. An incredibly improved roll rate at low altitudes, as well as minor tweaks to the vectored pulse engines provided her a craft that not only carried enough firepower to devastate an entire armored column, but also was able to outmaneuver anything the Greenskins could throw at them.

The Marauder squadrons smashed into the Ork formations, gunners fearlessly baiting entire hordes of fighter-bombas and Jet craft after them. At 1500 feet over an industrial park, Valeris took her first shots at the invaders. Deploying her flaps, she cut her speed in two, dropping behind a Fighta making a run at her wingman, Helios 4. Davoss was struggling to shake the red painted fighter, and the flyboy had already scored several hits across the 47's rear fuselage. Valeris angled her nose just above and to the right of the Fighta, her thumb sitting on the trigger.

Davoss pulled left, the Fighta pulled right, putting him directly in Valeris's sights. She jammed the trigger down, and her fighter's nose mounted autocannons blasted the junker to smithereens. The remains of the Ork fighter fell out of the sky in flames. "Thanks for the assist, Helios 2," said Davoss, relief obvious across the Vox.

"Any time, 4," smiled Valeris. "Form up on my six."

"Roger that."

The two Thunderbolts looped back into the dogfight. Through her canopy, Valeris watched the Rok continue to descend. The three smaller bastions had struck the Golgotha itself, while the largest had smashed into Lake Aradine. Valeris sighed. Uprooting the Orks would fall to the Guard now. Until then, the sky was still too green for her liking.

The anti air batteries were effectively keeping the Ork junkers contained. Buzzing like hornets around the Navy squadrons, most were easy targets in the crowded air. Some Orks were breaking for the skyscraper canyons below to avoid the AA guns, where their fighter bombers wreaked havoc on Guard convoys moving through the city. Helios squadron regrouped, and pursued.

* * *

><p>"Incoming, get down!" screamed the guardsmen. The Vendoland 4th company convoy broke for the cover of the buildings as a swarm of Ork fighters swept down over them, tearing up the streets with machine gun fire. Kippler dove through the doorway, shots nipping at his feet. Troopers not fast enough were cut down in the street, others still trapped in their Chimeras when the Orks strafed them again and again. The whine of Ork turbines whipped past, followed closely by the sweeping roar of Imperial engines.<p>

The Daredevils popped their heads outside just in time to see a flight of Thunderbolts passing overhead, driving off the Orks. The Vendolanders cheered at the navy's timely arrival, pouring back out onto the streets and continuing forward. The Guard's projections had been off. The Orks had landed in the city directly, rather than to the south as they had anticipated. The 85th Vendoland was pulling back to the interior. The nearest Rok base had landed just inside the Luesan Canal, that separated the Golgotha mainland from the Luesan Island based cargo warehouses. Every second wasted was time the Orks would use to spread out across the island.

Captain Uther was at the front of the column, alongside Connor and Lieutenant Hunder. Hunder produced a handheld chart for Uther. "There are six bridges crossing the Canal along the south side, sir," he explained. "We're on the heading for the Southgate Bridge here. It is large enough to ferry the convoy across without much trouble, but Trench Skipper squad says that they have sighed heavy enemy movements on the other side of the bridge."

Uther looked over the map, analyzing the crossing in question. "Have the Trench Skippers hold tight, Jorin," said Uther. "Get Daredevil squad up here, Connor, we'll use both Grenadier teams to clear the bridge for the rest of the convoy. I'll get on the vox with Lester and see if he can send some more air support our way."

"Aye sir," said Hunder, jogging off to collect Kippler's squad.

"Something on your mind, Commissar?" asked Uther knowingly, his voice filled with fake meekness. He knew well enough when Connor was annoyed. He gave her a small smile, looking at her expectantly.

"I am concerned about your choice of units for this mission, Lars," she said bluntly. Connor was very forward with her opinions. Obfuscating things cost lives. It made her difficult to deal with at times, however. Such as now. Uther did not need an argument at the moment.

"You don't think that the Daredevils are up to it?" asked Uther. "I put Kippler in charge because I trust him to get the job done. He's the best man I have with my sergeants unavailable. He hasn't let me down yet."

"And he was also suddenly given command of an entire squad today," countered Connor. "The men from the 46th aren't used to him yet, and he isn't used to them. If this turns out to be a problem, we could very well lose both the Daredevils and the Trench Skippers."

Lars was adamant with his decision. "Both teams are going, that's final. Now, unless you plan to join them, we can get back to putting this convoy on track."

"Very well," said Connor coldly. She pulled her bolt pistol from its holster, and unsheathed her power sword, electrical sparks running along the shaft. Uther squinted. She wasn't serious was she?

"Very well what?" he said cautiously, still unsure what Connor's intention was. Would she really try to kill him over a disagreement? But instead, Connor simply walked away, still brandishing both weapons. "Connor, what are you doing?"

"Joining them," she said without looking back. "Perhaps with me around, the damage can be focused on the Orks rather than ourselves."

"Fine then, as you see fit, Commissar," spat Uther. The lack of trust stung him, but the Captain put it aside. This was no time for personal feelings to interfere with his judgement. If Connor wanted to join them, that was her decision, and, as a Commissar, he had no say over her actions.

The Daredevils ran by, lead by Jorin and Connor. Uther jumped onto the lead chimera, intent on contacting Colonel Lester for some much needed air support. The skies were filled with crisscrossing trails of smoke from crashing fighters, and the air was filled with the smell of powder discharge and rocket propellant. The smell stung at his sinuses, and with the cold winds sweeping through the streets, Lars was glad to drop into the warm confines of the troop transport. Let Elle take the bridge, he thought. She'd see he was right.

* * *

><p>The Trench Skippers were hugging the low wall that ran along the side of the Luesan Canal. Across the bridge, Sergeant Ennis could see dozens of Greenskins moving along the streets. Behind them, trucks and mechs trundled along, smashing shops open for the Xenos to loot. Ennis's troopers had managed to get into position unnoticed over the sound of gunfire and the air battle, but moving across the bridge would be suicide without backup. So the grenadiers waited, watching for anything that could give them an edge over the Orks.<p>

As it turned out, the edge arrived from behind the Trench Skippers. A dozen guardsmen, some dressed as grenadiers, others infantrymen, moved in quickly, running at a half crouch to Ennis's men. A familiar, if pallid looking soldier with unkempt black hair spoke. "Daredevils at your service. Who do you need blown up?"

* * *

><p>Author's note: Time for some fun.<p> 


	19. Thundering 77s: The Price of a Bridge

**The Price Of A Bridge**

It was eerily quiet throughout the Forge. The governor's emergency declaration had abruptly broken the silence, but there was no one to listen in the abandoned streets. The only sound to be heard was the hum of the void shield as it fizzled and cracked from the occasional impact of Greenskin meteorites. Learning their lessons from the First Crusade, Angel Forge had been fortified extensively. No longer was Angel Gate the only defense, massive orbital defense cannons and redundant shield generators had been installed during the Adeptus Mechanicus's annexation of the Manufactorum. The new defenses had turned the Forge into an impregnable bastion for the Imperium, but it had the unfortunate side effect of cutting off any escape route that Arbiter Talros had planned for himself and Merrick and Hurst.

Hurst was on watch, guarding the doorway to their hideaway in an electrical shed. Inside, Merrick set his spotlamp over a diagram of the Forge produced by Talros. They were five hundred meters inside the defensive wall, near a power junction that ran cables between manufactorum Six and Seven. Each factory block was immense, with kilometers long assembly lines stretching across their expanse on the surface alone. Inside, each factory delved deep into Meridian's earth, all the way down to the Forge's core. Walking to their destination would take ages, so Talros had taken Merrick's suggestion of procuring transportation.

"The evidence we need is most likely to be kept with Magos Dolthem's personal belongings, which means that we will need to break into the Tech-Priest sanctum," explained Talros. He tapped the map, pointing to an exhaust grate symbol. "That is our way in. The heat from the vents will blur our signatures on any detection devices, and will allow us to bypass the majority of the Tech Guard's security."

"There's not a lot of room in those vents," said Merrick. "Are you sure that you can't find another way in?"

"This is our best route," insisted Talros. "I can provide breathing equipment if the conditions become too severe. It will only be a short drop, so we can rappel down. Is that clear?"

"Clear as you ever seem to be," muttered Merrick. He grabbed his autopistol and pack. "All right, let's go. All clear, Waddy?"

Hurst peered outside. He waved the other two out after finding no sign of movement. They darted through the junction, hopping from electrical pylons, and keeping low along the narrow walls that bordered it. Vaulting over the walls, they moved quickly through the back alleys, only stopping to hide from infrequent vehicle patrols. Hurst had considered grabbing a vehicle to reach their target sooner, but had decided against it, mentally slapping himself for being so stupid. The Cogboys would definitely have their routes planned out, and a jeep would only bring more unneeded attention.

One thing that nobody had counted on was the sudden surge of heat. The void shield was keeping the cold out, and the warm air rising from the Forge in. The sludge of dirty snow was quickly melting away, taking their conspicuous footprints with it. Talros led them to the Manufactorum exhaust grate. They set their rappel lines, and dropped into the darkness. Hurst pulled his mask on, switching on the night vision settings in the goggles. He reached the bottom first, detaching his line and rolling it up so nobody could follow them down. Merrick and Talros did the same, and the group moved out, the only sign of their passing being the slightly misadjusted grate panel above.

Merrick took point, leading them through the warrens of exhaust vents. Hurst felt like a rat clawing its way through a barn, careful to ensure that no step alerted the swooping owls waiting above, or, in his case, below. The Tech Guard would not hesitate to kill them to preserve their secrets. A paranoid conclusion for some. Hurst just saw it as being practical. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber dominated by a fan that blew hot exhaust through the tall shafts. Some natural light cast down from above, and Hurst deactivated his night vision.

Merrick and Talros checked the map again. "This way," said the Arbitrator. He lead them down a second passage, much larger than the first. Hurst could hear the sound of machinery hissing and whirring through the vent. The walls and floor vibrated as well, making him feel like he was within the belly of some living, mechanical beast. Their footsteps were like heartbeats, steadily thumping in the gloom.

* * *

><p>Talros motioned for them to stop. A grated vent plate lay directly over a gantry below. They carefully pulled the plate back, and dropped down onto the walkway with a sharp rattle. Hurst immediately had his autopistol aimed down the walkway, looking for anyone who might have heard the disturbance. He peered over the side of the railings, gazing down into the abyss. They were within Angel Forge itself.<p>

Below them, the manufactorum ran deep into the earth. Conveyor belts crisscrossed further and further downwards, endlessly churning out everything from everyday appliances to heavy war machines and transports. Everywhere through the orange haze, Hurst saw the crimson robed Techpriests and their Skitarii patrols. The cogboys worked the assembly lines, adjusting and calibrating delicate devices, too complex for the rudimentary construction drones. Oil and smoke filled the air, wafting up past the walkway and into the vents the three men had just crawled out of. The sound was deafening, any concerns that Hurst had regarding a noisy entry was drowned out by the endless whine of servos and motors.

"What is that?" whispered Merrick, pointing to one of the lines. "I've never seen a tank like that before."

The vehicle was nothing like a Leman Russ. This tank was a low, sloped beast, long where the Russ was tall. The low profile was dominated by a large, swiveled turret mounting an incredibly long gun; a vanquisher cannon. For a smaller vehicle, it managed to convey the same intimidation that the workhorse Russ flaunted, only on a much lower body. Hundreds of the vehicles were pushing down the production line, before exiting the room through the vast main doors.

"There is a massive buildup of military vehicles here," noted Talros. Hurst watched the man observe the forge. He could almost hear the quill scratching paper as Talros took mental notes. "Not just your tanks, though. Look over there, those are sentinel frames, and there, ammunition. This section of the forge was supposed to be relatively empty. What are they up to?"

"I'd say it looks rather obvious," remarked Merrick, "A huge weapons stockpile for the Mechanicus to boot us out of Angel Forge."

"I'm not making any accusations until we have solid proof in our hands," said Talros. "Come, we must find their records. There is far more progress here in repairing the manufactorum than I was lead to believe. Just another question added to the pile."

* * *

><p>"Glad you decided to join us," said Sergeant Ennis, squad leader for the Trench Skippers. Ork activity continued to grow along the opposite side of the Luesan Canal, but nothing indicated that they had spotted the platoon hidden just across the bridge. The two squads were stretched out along the low stone wall that ran the length of the canal promenade.<p>

Ennis was providing a sitrep for the Daredevils. "Enemy armor is moving along the roads just past the waterway. We've seen several convoys of trucks passing through behind the building on the right hand side of the bridge. That building should be our target objective. It'll give us a full view of the area and give us control of the bridge from their side."

"A sound plan, sergeant," said Lieutenant Jorin Hunder. "Kippler, take half your troops and provide covering fire. Corporal Mathis and the riflemen will follow myself and Sergeant Ennis's men on the charge."

"As will I," said Commissar Connor, speaking up. "You will not retreat from this fight, men, for there will be no need to. We will win here today, if not by our blood, than by that of those who follow in our footsteps. I don't plan on giving those other chaps the chance. Move out!"

The guardsmen quietly nodded in acknowledgement, sliding along the wall towards the bridge. There they waited, poised to jump at the call.

"Three, two, one, go! Covering fire!" shouted Kippler. Kalan and Donovan opened fire with their heavy bolter, pouring a withering hail of bullets over the canal. Half a dozen Orks were cut down instantly before the rest dove to cover. Beryn lead the charge with the 46th troopers, racing across the bridge alongside the Trench Skippers, Lieutenant Hunder, and Commissar Connor. Alek was on the vox calling for armor support, while Remer and Vornas kept the Greenskins on their toes, lobbing grenades into their cover spots.

Kippler hugged the side of the bridge's suspension anchor, popping around the corner intermittently to target the largest Orks. A Nob's head was perforated with three deadly accurate shots from his long las. The grenadier platoon had stormed halfway across the bridge almost unopposed by the disorganized Orks. But a phalanx of xenos walkers had been alerted to the incursion, and they had turned their fearsome weaponry onto the guardsmen. The gretchin machines, "Killa-Kans", were as crudely built as any greenskin vehicle; spiky, rickety contraptions that belched smoke and whined on rusted servomotors. But not to be underestimated for their outward appearance. The small walkers were deadly up close, and had enough raw armor to see themselves into melee range.

Kippler made hand motions to Remer and Vornas, directing their fire at the oncoming Kans. The Daredevils and Trench Skippers stalled on the bridge folded into the suspension cabling along either side, leaving a clean avenue for the grenade launchers. Loaded with anti vehicle krak grenades, the two guardsmen fired at the Killa Kans. Remer and Vornas slagged three of the machines between them, outright destroying two and the third catching fire in the ensuing explosions. Pressing their advantage, Kippler ordered his five rearguard men to move up to the rest of the troopers.

Ennis's Trench Skippers were as much a professional unit as the Daredevils. The sergeant pressed his men forward, delivering a punishing fusillade of hellgun and hotshot bursts downrange at the Orks. Equipped for target acquisition, his specialists forwent conventional grenade launchers for melta and plasma weaponry. Dozens of Orks were vaporized as they charged the outnumbered but not outmatched grenadiers.

Kippler reached Beryn Mathis, huddled behind one of the wrecked Kans and trading shots with the Ork gunners on the far shore. "How are we doing corporal?" shouted Kippler, "Casualties?"

"None yet sir!" replied Mathis over the deafening firefight. "A few bumps, but no losses!"

Kippler poked his head over their cover, observing the Orks. Dozens more kept arriving on the other side, disgorging from their trucks and climbing over the growing number of dead comrades. "We're sitting ducks on this bridge," said Kippler, "We've got to clear a path before we get bogged down, and the convoy will never get through. Alek, where's that armor support?"

"I'm working on it, sir!" said Alek, desperately working his vox pack between warming his metal fingers before the joints froze. Under fire, Kippler was impressed with how Alek was holding up under fire. His aim was no better, but he wasn't the same panicked youth Kippler had met three years ago. He had come into his own as an excellent vox operator and field medic.

"Well work harder," said Remer. The Orks were gaining ground, the sheer volume of Orkish fire matched only by their chanting of 'dakka dakka dakka'. The grenadiers killed many, but every second they spent putting down the green tide, the larger it grew.

* * *

><p>"Flight one, this is Helios 1. Form up and return to base for refuelling. There's not much more we can do out here." Tyrell sounded exhausted over the vox. The Thunderbolt squadron had almost depleted their fuel in the extended dogfight. If they reached the point of no return, the only way down would be by the guns of a lucky junker. Valeris pulled her flight into formation with Tyrell's group. She had taken some flak damage across her wingspan, and she was relying on vector jets to stay airborne.<p>

"Once everybody's groundside, I want you to get a good rest," explained Tyrell. "We're going back out as soon as repairs and refueling is complete. You'll have a few hours, make the most of them."

The sky was blackened with smoke and whispering contrails from the relentless battle among the skyscrapers. The Marauder wing had driven ferociously at the Ork base, while the Thunderbolts had tangled with the flocks of greenskin fighters wreaking havoc on the ground troops. It seemed as though the Ork vessels had been filled to the brim with the junkers, as unprecedented numbers had inundated the airspace in a short matter of time. Helios squadron had downed dozens of enemy planes, but they had barely made a dent in the Ork's air force. Without a decisive strike, Valeris expected them to face a lengthy battle of attrition to slowly whittle down the Ork forces to the last spore.

Valeris hated to leave the combat zone, but she knew better than to disagree with Tyrell. If a bandit didn't drop her plane, Tyrell's report to the Fleet Commissariat would permanently end her disobedience. So she kept in line with the rest of the squadron, looking all the worse for wear. Davoss was still airborne too, even after his close call earlier. She did a double check of her instruments to make sure a sudden change wouldn't throw her off course. One of her vector engines was struggling to maintain its thrust output. Valeris tried to cut the engine's power and compensate using the second engine. Before she got the chance, the vector engine burst into flames.

The Thunderbolt veered dangerously to the left as Valeris struggled to regain control. The other fighters banked away to avoid a collision. Inside the cockpit, the machine spirit was screaming with alarms and flashing emergency lights. A diagnosis on the dash screen told Helios 2 that the port vector engine had had a piece of shrapnel lodged in the air intake, causing the explosion. Valeris's control column was like an anchor in her hands, refusing to budge and sending the Thunderbolt into a flat spin as the second engine continued to provide thrust.

"Valeris, eject!" barked Tyrell, walking the Lieutenant through her panicked situation. "You'll only have one shot at this before you miss your grav chute's safety threshold."

"I'm trying," protested Valeris, still battling with her controls. "If I'm not upright, I might as well have a ferrosteel parachute." Setting an angle for her remaining engine, the Thunderbolt ceased it's pinwheel, and leveled out. The machine was still falling like a meteor, but Valeris had the sky above and the ground below. "All right, I think I've got it."

"Then eject now!" said Tyrell. "We'll send a search party for you, Helios 2. Hang tight."

"Just get out of here, my auspex is picking up more xenos craft."

"Good luck, Valeris," said Captain Tyrell. The rest of the squadron raced away, quickly becoming specks hidden among the snowy skies. Valeris pulled the cockpit eject. The canopy of the dying bird blasted off, filling the cockpit with blasting winds as the plane plummeted to the ground. But her seat was still embedded in the aircraft. Frantically, Valeris pulled the eject again and again, trying to get the seat's rocket booster to ignite. It never did.

"Frak!" she cursed, unable to hear herself over the gushing wind. The metal canyons between skyscrapers were coming up at an alarming rate. Increasingly desperate, Valeris set her remaining engine back to its forward thrust configuration. She tried to angle herself parallel with the street, and braced for impact.

* * *

><p>The Killa Kans were moving into striking distance. Metal claws and saw blades tore through the carcasses of the fallen walkers, scattering the Daredevils. From the right hand side of the bridge, the Trench Skippers turned their melta guns on the machines, atomizing the gretchins inside. Two of the Trench Skippers fell to the Ork guns. Ennis began pulling his troopers back from the fight. Enraged, Commissar Connor defiantly rose from cover, firing her bolt pistol at the troopers' feet and brandishing her power sword.<p>

"Not one step back, cowards!" she roared. Connor swung her sword to point it at the Greenskins barreling across the bridge. "All men, fix bayonets!"

She was seriously considering a charge into that? Kippler almost couldn't believe his eyes. The usually cold and reasoning Connor was ordering a direct advance into a sea of Orks. He snapped out of his disbelief, and smacked the others to do the same. "You heard her, bayonets, now!"

Lieutenant Hunder revved his chainsword. "Come on, men, for the Emperor!" The lieutenant joined the Commissar in her desperate push against the Orks. Remer and Vornas let loose one final volley of grenades before joining the rest of the platoon. Kippler grudgingly fit the long knife onto the ring socket and started running. Compensating for the extra weight, he still managed to score several lethal shots against the Orks, thinning their ranks just before lowering his weapon and thrusting into the melee.

Connor and Hunder were at the forefront, tearing apart the Orks where they stood and ducking under the large brutes' wide swings. Jann Tarls and Mol Lannik were sent flying by an axe wielding Nob. Alek, still working the Vox, nonetheless raced over to the troopers to check their injuries. Seeing that they were fine, he dragged them back behind cover and rejoined the attack.

"Kippler, Kippler!" he shouted, firing ceaselessly into the Orks while he pushed forward. "I got through to an artillery crew, number 77. They've got a clear shot along the road!"

"How long before they can fire?" said Kippler.

"I said as soon as they could," Alek said. "We've got two minutes to clear the firing zone. Do we go forward or back?"

Kippler looked ahead, where Connor was doing her best impression of a Space Marine. She had hacked a bloody path through the Ork brutes, and the Trench Skippers had capitalized on the opening. "We go where the Commissar demands, Alek. We make for the building."

"Aye, corporal," said Alek. The Daredevils thrust through the break in the Ork phalanx, joining the platoon's final push. Zapping hellgun fire erupted all around Alek and Kippler, wiping away the Orks. Ork reinforcements had trickled to a halt, and the remaining Greenskins were faltering. Ennis's men had shattered the Killa Kan charge with precision melta shots and bombs. But for their bravery, the Trench Skippers had taken the brunt of the Ork's wrath. Five troopers lay dead, torn apart by Ork guns or hacked to bits by their axes.

Kippler kept a level head through the grueling fight, only firing when he was guaranteed a kill. Forty five seconds later, the Orks had been pushed off the bridge, but it was the longest forty five seconds Kippler had ever endured. The bridge covered in dead Orks, the grenadiers rushed their objective building as more of the xenos forces regrouped.

"Go, go! Get inside!" shouted Lieutenant Hunder. A distant rumble throbbed at the edge of hearing. Kippler looked back across the bridge. In the far distance, up Temple Hill, he saw a series of flashes, followed shortly by more bangs. The artillery was raining down on them. He raced for the house.

Vornas hastily strapped a shaped charge onto the front entrance, and primed the explosive. Pressing into the wall, the grenadiers set off the bomb, blasting the door inwards. They swarmed inside, firing back at the Orks still out in the streets before delving further inside. The first shells began to strike. The pavement erupted in fiery blasts that threw chunks of asphalt skyward and incinerated anything left in the open. The ground shook and the world was deafened by the continuing destruction.

Then, the building was hit. Kippler was thrown like a ragdoll against the wall, which promptly collapsed in a huge crack. The whole world went black, the crashing noise was deafening, and Kippler found himself being twisted painfully by the crushing rock. The destruction lasted for ages, it seemed, until finally, things settled. The basilisks fell silent, and a strange quiet fell across the ruined structure. Kippler couldn't move anything but his neck, which he craned awkwardly to try and look around. He was fairly certain he was upside down by the blood rushing to his head.

Shapes began moving in the rubble. Somebody groaned nearby. "Vornas? Borik, is that you?" asked Kippler. He tried to twist his neck in the direction of the sound.

"Aye, Kip, it's me," replied Vornas. Vornas sat up, shaking off the mountain of rubble that coated his armor. "If Alek is still alive, I'm gonna kill him for this."

"I'll keep that in mind, you ass," sniped Alek from somewhere out of sight. "Are you alright, Corporal?"

Kippler tried to move again, but the rocks didn't budge. He gave up and sighed. "No, I'm stuck. I don't think anything's broken though, help me get out."

Alek and Vornas pried the heavy masonry off of Kippler until he was able to move his arms and pull himself out of the wreckage. The three moved among the room, helping free their entombed comrades until they were all free. Almost everyone, Kippler observed. "Where's Remer?"

"He was the last one through the door, after me," said Vornas. "I didn't see him after that blast."

"Check the hallway," ordered Connor, "or what's left of it." The grenadiers carefully picked their way across the room. The building had mercifully only taken a single shell in the exchange, but there was no sense in abandoning caution. The roof might still be up, but the foundations might have been shaken severely, and any misjudged step could cause a wall or floor to give away. The entire corner of the building had been taken out, exposing the guardsmen to the cold winter air. Had Kippler not been wearing his armor, he would have been killed instantly. Mathis's troops, in their simpler flak jackets, were definitely worse off than the true grenadiers.

The hallway was utterly gone. A huge fissure was all that remained where it once was, filled with shattered rockrete as hundreds of tonnes from the building above crashed into the ground. The sinkhole was beginning to settle, with a thin blanket of snow already blanketing the debris. Kippler looked down the hole with an empty look on his face, his eyes unblinking. His gaze had caught a slight glint; red blood shimmering, splattered across a sheet of metal in an unreachable corner down the hole.

Vornas was already hooking his rappel line into the floor. Kippler looked at him blankly. "What are you doing, Borik?"

"I'm going to get him out, what the hell does it look like?" he growled back at Kippler. Vornas glared at Kippler, a reproachful look etched across his burned face. He jumped off the side of the fissure, sliding down the rope. Commissar Connor swooped down and snatched the line before Vornas could descend any further. "Get off, you bitch, unless you're coming down here to help me!"

"Anything we pull out of there we will be returning to the A.F.H in several bags, private," said Connor, somewhat more harshly than Kippler usually knew her for. "We have our objective, now we hold it until the convoy arrives. One dead trooper is not enough reason to deny a strategic position."

"Vornas, listen to me. We have to go," Kippler said. He offered Vornas his hand. "Please."

Vornas swatted his hand aside, pulling himself out of the pit. Kippler felt the pure resentment radiating from the huge man as he shouldered past without so much as glancing at him. Lieutenant Hunder watched the exchange hesitantly, until Vornas left the room to secure the rest of the building with Ennis's remaining soldiers. "Corporal? Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, yes. I'm fine, sir," Kippler said, eventually. He looked around, realizing that he, Alek and Hunder were the only ones in the hallway. Beryn had taken the rest of the squad to clear the road for the rest of the company. Kippler could hear their engines coming steadily up the street. "Alek, get on the vox to command, tell them we've secured the building. And... give them the casualties."

Alek suddenly looked like the frightened, unsteady youth again. His hands trembled while he worked the vox caster, and his voice cracked as he read out the report. "The objective was taken, sir. Casualties: five soldiers from Trench Skipper squad. Daredevils: one."


	20. Thundering 77s: Guilt and Anger

**Guilt and Anger**

The Imperial Guard had surged into Golgotha Spire intent on breaking the Orks apart before they could consolidate their landing sites. To an extent, they were successful. Four of the strategically valuable bridges linking the dockyards and storage facilities to the mainland had been secured in the first day of fighting, with only minimal losses for the Imperium. The remaining two had been subject to the fiercest fighting of the day, resulting in one bridge's destruction by Greenskin saboteurs, and the other still hotly contested. Southgate Bridge was effectively cleansed in a matter of hours, as the Vendoland, Xenobane and Garredyne forces has swept across into Ork territory, courtesy of the 4th Grenadiers. By all accounts, the first day of the Green Winter Campaign had been a resounding success.

But not for Soras, or for any of the grenadier platoon. Six men dead was a tally for some, but for them, they were six friends that wouldn't be going home again. Their deaths lay heavily on the troopers' consciences, a bitter reminder that, for all their training and experience, even veterans could fall as easily as raw guardsmen. Kippler sat atop a terraced roof, listening to the bells from Temple Hill ringing in the night sky while a light snow fell. Kippler began unraveling a roll of cloth from his pack. It was Remer's homemade banner for the regiment, poor Gothic grammar and all. He really had used bootlaces for the stitching.

Two pillars adorned with eagles, one blindfolded, flanked the central emblem. Remer had chosen a large, furry animal for their symbol. Kippler recognized it as an Ursidae, an unusual beast from other worlds he'd only read about. Most Guard units that had seen them simply called the beast a bear. Remer's bear riding Space Marines, Kippler remembered _that_ conversation. Across the bottom of the green flag, the slogan was written. "First Glory".

"First Glory to you then, Lenham Remer," said Soras quietly. He set the flag aside, unable to look at it anymore. Instead, he did what he always did when he needed to focus. He began stripping his rifle. At least that was something he knew he couldn't fail at.

* * *

><p>"These are the men?" asked Colonel Crassus. Arrayed in front of him were fifty Planetary Defense Force soldiers, stripped down to their undershirts and coated in oil and grime. Even in the bitter cold, Crassus could see the sweat evaporating from their skin, and each looked like he had spent time in a furnace rather than manning an artillery battery.<p>

"Gun crew seventy-seven, Colonel," said Battery Commander Hullen. The large man puffed out his chest with pride for the recognition of his leadership. A compliment from the Imperial Guard was as great an honor as the commander could achieve. Crassus let Hullen bask in his ego stroking, he wasn't here for the commander. He was here to see the crew themselves. "We are a joint anti-air and ground support unit. No doubt you were impressed by my performance today."

"Yes..." muttered Crassus, trailing off. He walked the breadth of the crew, eyeing the militiamen. Intimidated, several of them straightened up as he passed. "You men have helped win us a great victory today. Take pride in that. With your aid, we were able to secure a vital lynchpin in our supply lines to the battlefront. I am here to personally congratulate you for your timely assistance, and I shall be placing a commendation for your unit." Crassus clapped his gloved hands together, rubbing them to ward off the cold. "The Emperor thanks you this day. Moreover, I thank you."

Crew 77 snapped to attention, saluting. Crassus was impressed with their discipline. Perhaps there was more to Hullen than his paunch. "Thank you sir!" they shouted. Crassus returned the salute, and walked back to the half-track, waiting to pick him up. The Colonel pulled back the canvas and climbed into the truck's rear, where Major Lester was waiting for him.

"Did you find anything up there?" asked Crassus. If his hunch was correct, they had just gained a valuable asset.

Armand nodded. "You were right, Ertrand, the site is perfect. 77 Battery lies along Temple Hill's Fourth Rampart, right in the corner where the wall begins to curve. Their guns overlook the whole street across Luesan Island. It's got an unprecedented firing arc that we can use. They can provide fire almost anywhere within our sector."

"Good work," said Crassus, huddling up in his heavy cloak. "Send a vox operator over there first thing in the morning. I want a direct line between 77 and Command, is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir. I'll send Murtonn, he won't let us down."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss," Crassus said. "Driver, take us home." The engine growled to life, and the half-track skidded along the still falling snow towards headquarters. The complex sat at the base of Temple hill, a sprawling series of management offices that the Guard had appropriated from protesting nobles. Crassus and Lester passed through the security checkpoints on their way to their billet. The Major bid Crassus good night, leaving him to his study.

The austere room left little to indicate anyone had even been there. Crassus only personal belongings were in a suitcase nestled in the corner. He decided now might be the only time to unpack what little he owned. A set of civilian clothes, a journal, and a small box. Crassus set the box on the desk and opened the lid, revealing an autopistol, the grip inlaid with silverwork. He looked at the weapon longingly. It had been a gift from his uncle, a metal craftsman back on Vendoland. Thinking back, he realized that it had been nearly twenty years since he had been home, and it would probably be another twenty before he would get another chance.

Crassus threw his winter cloak over the desk chair and eased himself into the chair, reclining back as far as the springs would allow. _Enjoy the small moments_, he taught himself. After a long, draining day, any comfort was a luxury. He glanced idly over to the stack of files and reports awaiting his signature. _No matter how short lived they may be_.

* * *

><p>Gren stared down the Ratling cook opposite the mess table. "I'm not eating that until it stops moving," he snarled, pointing at the quivering pile of stew mounding his plate. The abhuman was insisting that the local wildlife was edible, only adding to Gren's disgust.<p>

"Honest now chum, have you ever tried eating a Meridian Granite Borer?" asked the cook, his voice as greasy as his apron. "I've tasted it m'self an' nothing's wrong with me. Ask any of us, it's eatable."

Gren loomed over the table, towering over the halfwit midget. "Maybe for you, if you had stomach acid that would give a Space Marine a run for his money, but not for me. Give me a bowl that isn't slightly alive."

The Ratling raised his arms, expressing defeat. "Fine, soldier boy, have it your way." The cook slopped a new plate of food for Gren. "Enjoy," he said, deadpan. Gren just sneered at the runt and walked off. It had been a long day, and a ratling giving him lip wasn't helping.

A group of spectators had been watching the altercation from a distance. A few even called out some encouragement to Gren, but most watched in anticipation. Since 11th and 7th had been folded into one, several guardsmen had come to hear the stories about Old Gren. Some said he had snapped after losing most of his squadmates near the end of the Vandis heresy. Others told stories of how the young lad who followed him around was his handler, as if he was some animal. Those that knew Gren told these gossipers to shut up, or they might get to know him a little too well.

The rapid advance after the Vendolanders had cleared the bridge had brought the worst urban combat had to offer with it. With the Orks digging in, every building had become a fortress. Gren's platoon had been tasked with clearing a food rations depot in the Hab blocks, which now served as the mess hall he and Flinn sat in. The fight had lasted nearly four hours before the Orks had fallen back, taking most of the supplies along with them. The rancid stench of the company cook's stew only mildly blocked out the smell the Greenskins left behind.

"Cheer up, man," said one of the new boys as Gren seated himself along the table. "It's better to have the 'abbies' watch our food than watch our backs. And he's not that bad a cook, once you get round his ingredients."

Gren just grunted angrily. "So you think having some little freak poison you with a smile on his face is better than throwing him out against the Orks with the rest of us?" Gren shook his head. "I don't know how you can live with an abhuman like that. Just get some chef from the reserve company and be done with him."

"So I take it you don't trust the abbies then?" asked the trooper. Gren simply gave him a look that said 'you are an idiot for asking that.'

"Didn't I just finish saying that? No, I don't trust abhumans. I don't trust anyone."

* * *

><p>"Corporal? May I have a word?" Kippler looked up from his rifle to see Captain Uther standing at the access door to the rooftop. Kippler nodded reluctantly, and Uther stepped forward. He offered Kippler a warm mug. "The ratlings aren't the most reliable chefs, I know. This is from my personal stock."<p>

"Something you needed, captain?" asked Kippler, taking a sip from the steaming cup.

"Just a talk, Corporal. I've spoken with Commissar Connor, she gave me the action report on your success today. She... also told me of your casualties. I am sorry about Remer."

"There's nothing I could have done, sir," said Kippler flatly. "Artillery doesn't discriminate. It's just the feeling of helplessness that I am troubled by. There was nothing I could have done as I see it now. But what if I had done differently? Would I have been able to save him?"

Lars shrugged. "That's not for me to say. You made the call, and you must live with it. Soldiers die, Soras. If you try to save everyone, you end of getting them all killed. You need to move past that if you are to lead. And right now, your men need a leader. Connor told me about the trouble you had with your second grenadier, Vornas. Mend that damage now before it spreads."

"Yes sir."

Captain Uther got up to leave. "I'm counting on you, Soras, don't let me down. When you are ready, I have a list of replacement candidates for your squad. I have no doubt you will make a smart decision."

* * *

><p>Half embedded in the bottom of Lake Aradine, a large section of the Ork rok rose out of the water like a jagged island. Even as the haphazard construct continued to fill with water, the Orks still persisted in their efforts to keep the ship running in a semi functional manner. In his newly made chambers near the top, Warboss Smashface convened with his Nobz. "Right, dis meetin' is come to orda now!" barked Smashface. "Dat means shut yer yap and listen! Now, where are we?"<p>

"Well, boss, we're in a lake," said one of the Nobz. Smashface lived up to his name, leaving the Nob to pick himself up off the floor.

"I know dat, you idiot! I mean, where are we on da map? You know, dat fing dat I found dat brought us here in da first place? Mek, bring dat fing out 'ere and show us where we are!"

The new Mekboy, somewhat rapidly promoted after his predecessor's involuntary accident, nervously shuffled forward, holding a hololith chart in his hands. He set the chart on the ground, letting the assembled Nobz look over the three dimensional display. "It says 'ere boss, dat we're on Meridian, capital of da Subsecta Aurelia. Says dat we've come down on da Angel Hive, in particular, Golgotha spire."

Smashface looked at the map with a greedy gleam in his beady eyes. "Golgoffa? Now dats a propa Orky name, isn't it boyz?" The Nobz nodded in agreement with the Warboss. "Wot do you know about dis Golgoffa, Mek?" he asked.

"Well, da chart here says dat most o' da boyz managed to land on, well, land. We'z got most o' da city covered, Boss, wiv plenty o' loot already. Da humies are on da north side, but we'z got da island and da south ends covered. Looks like a huge crumpin' Waaagh! If I ever saw one!"

"Of course it's a Waaagh! you git! I coulda told ya dat," said Smashface. He pondered for a moment. "Err, how are we supposed to get to da fightin'? Da Tellyporta's busted up."

The Mek scratched his head, thinking. The Nobz put their collective thoughts together, and came up empty. Orks were made for fighting and winning, not for planning and scheming (except for those weird Blood Axe boys). The collaborative thought process lasted several minutes, a spark of genius occurred. The New Mek snapped his meaty fingers. "I've got it boss!" he exclaimed. "'Ere's wot we do!"

* * *

><p>Alek rushed between cots of wounded soldiers, helping where he could. The chief field medic for the company, a thickset man named Yoren, was wheeling another shrapnel victim into the medical station. The Orks had mercifully avoided striking the Hab block's hospital. Whether because of its lack of value in their minds, or if they wished to find better opponents than dying men, Alek didn't care. He was too busy checking triage tags and directing incoming wounded to ancilliary wards.<p>

There were few civilians coming in, thanks to the early warnings that had successfully moved the bulk of Golgotha into refugee shelters on the north end of Temple Hill. Alek paid little attention to the few that arrived. Right now, he needed to focus on the guardsmen in front of him. Other volunteer medics did the same. A man was brought in with a massive cut along the inside of his leg. He wasn't moving, and Alek remorsefully crossed an X on his forehead. Too far gone, too much blood loss. He couldn't be saved now.

With every new arrival, Alek anxiously checked to see if one of them was Remer. Maybe somebody had found him, just trapped below but alright. He kept hoping to see the unkempt mop of black hair on one of those beds, or maybe hear a bad joke from the eternal optimist. But Remer never came. Alek's heart sank as the night dragged on. He recounted the proverb: Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.


	21. Thundering 77s: A Growing Web

**A Growing Web**

Wadden felt as though the forge would go on forever. Talros had led them from gantries, through service tunnels, underneath production lines, and everything in between. The Mechanicus was certainly maintaining a steady production of military arms and equipment, but despite Merrick's objections otherwise, Hurst wasn't quite convinced that the priesthood was hoarding for themselves. The supplies were constantly being shipped out to the loading bays, and heavy cargo ships continually came and went through the openings at the top of the Forge. Everything appeared to be running as Hurst thought a forge should.

They were now hidden between two large containers on a mag-train cart hurtling towards the primary Forge. So far, Talros had succeeded in keeping Tech Guard patrols and watchful priests from detecting them. Hurst hoped that whatever luck Talros had conjured up to keep the Mechanicus off their backs held out. While Hurst didn't believe in the arbitrator's suspicion of treason, being captured for trespassing was something he' d prefer to avoid. The mag-train hummed louder as it slowed to a halt in a large receiving depot. Large cranes reaching for the ceiling far above began offloading the train's cargo.

Talros slid off the side of the train and dropped a short distance to a maintenance catwalk that ran along the underside of the rail system. A tiny hatchway lay further up the grated walkway. Merrick and Hurst flanked either side of the door with their pistols drawn while the Talros produced his lock slicing tool. Hurst swung into the room, immediately checking his corner to the right with Merrick mirroring him on the left. When he gave the all clear, Talros entered and sealed the door behind them.

The room was a maintenance junction for the Forge's hydroelectric system. A small artificier console was packed tightly between a mass of dripping pipes, funneling water through the junction an back throughout the Forge. Wadden noted that only one other doorway entered the room. Easy to cover, but also easy to become trapped in. Talros produced two small, rectangular cards and pressed each against the entrance hatches. "These will emit an intermittent scan of the opposite side of the doorways. They are keyed to my neural augments, so I will know if there is movement the moment the surveyors detect anything. We will rest here for three hours, and then continue onwards."

Merrick shook his head, and nestled into a corner, resting with one hand on his laspistol. While he rested, Hurst watched the Arbites agent as he used the artificier's monitor, injecting a spike shaped object into the computer's memory banks. Hurst leaned over Talros's shoulder, staring at the screen. "What are you looking for?"

Talros did not take his eyes off the screen, and he continued to sift through information. "Anything of value. Security patrol routes, maintenance schedules, anything that might indicate if this room could be compromised in the time we stay here."

"That's not what I meant," said Hurst quietly, as to not wake Merrick. "I meant what are you looking for, here in the Forge?" Hurst placed himself between Talros and the monitor, and stared impassively at him. "I may not share Merrick's disregard for authority, but he is right about one thing. What do you need us for, exactly? You could have spoken to either of us in the past three months and learned all you could from our testimonials. But instead, here we are, helping you break into Angel Forge to steal documents. You say that the events leading up to Spire Legis's demise did not add up, Talros, but from my perspective, neither do your motives."

Talros was undeterred by Hurst's probing. He answered flatly, "You are here because I allow it. Your friend the sergeant major would still be in that cell if I had not overruled the Imperial Guard's sentencing. You are here because you are more embroiled in this conspiracy than you may realize. The Mechanicus archives will provide the proof I need to complete my case."

"Spare me the obfuscation, agent," said Hurst sharply. "I asked you a question with a simple answer. I didn't ask for another rant. What is in these archives that could be so valuable to you to risk death by the hands of the AdMech?"

"This conversation is over." Talros glared up at Hurst until he finally walked away. "My reasons are my own."

* * *

><p>In a darkened room, visible only by the infrared sight of his optics, the priest watched and listened to the exchange between the two intruders. The Arbiter had been efficient in covering their footsteps. The low level Transmechanics overseeing audio surveillance of the Forge had been quite fooled by the encryption codes the agent had uploaded into the junction's computer bank. But not quite the match for the Logis Adept's discerning watch. The conversation was fascinating to him. A thought danced across his mind. Perhaps, a treasonous thought. But still, possibly a course of action worth exploring...<p>

As far as Valeris could tell, she was somewhere in the lower levels of Golgotha spire. Either side of the abandoned roadway were artificial canals that provided drinking water to those below the surface level. The whole spire was covered by these waterways. Valeris hoped to follow the canals out to the water reclamation center, and from there, follow the shoreline north into Imperial Territory. It was slow going, Valeris was dragging her left leg, clutching a metal pipe as a crutch.

Her Thunderbolt had crashed some miles back. Valeris had hit the deck harder than she'd hoped, and her plane had bowled over the side of the freeway before crashing down here. She was lucky that she hadn't flipped over. Without her canopy, the plane would have crushed her. Even so, her flight jacket was stained dark red from her wounds, and Valeris' head was spinning from blood loss.

She could catch a few glimpses of the world above through the slivers of light that broke the darkness. Even as night fell, she could make out the occasional blips in the air that signified gunfire. So both sides were still going at it, she surmised. Above and below, the spire stretched for a mile in each direction, packed with countless roads, passages, and pipes leading through the labyrinth. She was constantly wary of attracting attention. If it wasn't Orks looting the lower levels, it would certainly be the Hive Gangers too stupid or stubborn to evacuate when the invasion warnings had gone off. There was always the sound of nearby gunfire, and Valeris didn't want to investigate.

The canal she had followed abruptly ended, flowing out of a huge metal grate built into the side of one of the Spire's support pillars. Valeris pulled herself over to the observation deck, thumbing the access panel to let her inside. Exhausted, Valeris collapsed through the entrance, the door hissing shut behind her just before she passed out. The last thing she felt before everything went black was the smack of her head against the hard floor.

* * *

><p>Merrick and Hurst had their guns trained on the door the moment they heard the hatch click. Talros stood flat against the wall next to the entrance, brandishing a discreet needle pistol. Wadden suppressed the tension building up inside him by controlling his breathing and easing up on his grip. When the door didn't budge, whoever was forcing an entry opted for simply smashing it down. The hatch was blown open by a pressure ram, embedding the metal frame in the opposing wall. Then the fighting started.<p>

The first Tech Guard through the door took a blast from Talros's needle pistol, spilling blood and oil over the squad of heavily armed cyborgs following him in. The trio fired shot after shot into the Skitarii, dropping them as they tried to force their way over the growing pile of bodies in the doorway. None of the Skitarii had yet managed to fire a shot in the engagement. Skitarii units were renowned for their lethality and advanced reflexes. Hurst prided himself on his marksmanship, but he was certain something was amiss. This suspicion was confirmed as a rasping voice shrieked "Cease fire!". The last Skitarii fell to Merrick's gun, and the room was quiet again.

Still pressed against the wall, Talros called out to the voice. "If you wish to speak, show yourself! Otherwise, join the rest of your fellow machine men in death."

The voice spoke with wearying contempt dripping from every syllable. "Oh very well, if I must. The weaknesses of the flesh are such inhibitors to proper conversation." A robed man, a Techpriest, strode into the room, showing no concern for the three guns pointed at his hooded face. "Very well, we shall do it your way, though, if I may ask a question?"

Talros cut him off. "I will be the one asking questions here," he said, still holding the gun to the priest's head. "How many more know we are here?"

"Three thousand four hundred and twenty seven Skitarii units under my command have been alerted to your presence," stated the priest. "They are currently on standby for further orders, and the nearest units can be here in thirty nine point two seconds."

"That is enough time to put us far enough away to stand a chance, then," said Talros. "And you can come with us for insurance."

The priest raised his hands and armatures in surrender, but continued to speak plainly. "Oh I assure you, agent, that will not be necessary. They will not attack without my command. In fact, I merely wished to speak with you. I understand we share a common interest."

Talros gave a harsh laugh. "And what would that be, gearhead?"

"Why, justice of course. The truth about Angel Forge. And the evidence you need to convict both Magos Dolthem and Commissar Elle Connor for heresy."

Hurst and Merrick shot a quick glance at each other, trying to hide their shock. It did not go unnoticed by the priest. "Oh, did he not explain that part to you, soldiers? You must forgive me for jumping ahead, but your skills at deduction are so limited by your hardware. Yes, heresy in the Guard ranks, and a conspiracy within the Priesthood. Isn't that correct, _Aldan_?"

Talros's face had contorted with anger. Flushed red, he pressed his now shaking pistol into the base of the priest's neck. "How do you know that name? Who are you?"

The priest turned on Talros, towering over the visibly shaken Arbiter. "I am the answer to all your questions, Aldan. I am Logis Corsis. It seems we have much to discuss." Another squad of Skitarii entered the room, marching over the bodies of their fallen allies. They trained their autoguns on the trio, who lowered their weapons. "If you will follow me, please."


	22. Thundering 77s: The Beast Awakens

**The Beast Awakens**

A week had passed since the Orks had made planet fall, and the effects could already be felt throughout Angel Hive. Millions of refugees evacuated from the besieged Golgotha Spire made the long pilgrimage across the frozen highways towards the Capital. Those too weak to brave the fierce blizzards were simply left on the roadside. Others still were harried relentlessly by local Ork marauders, stirred into a frenzy by the arrival of a true Waaagh! Greenskin bikers and raiders conducted steady hit and runs on the refugees, striking wherever the overtaxed PDF escorts were not. Thousands died on the long march.

Overhead, the air battle still raged, with round the clock sorties from the Imperial Navy's ground bases raiding the Ork roks while the Ameratus rested in orbit, providing fire support as needed. Angel Hive was too valuable to deploy capital weaponry against, severely crippling the Imperial's orbital defenses. The battleship was limited to tactical missile strikes to prevent excessive damage to Golgotha Spire's extensive supplies.

* * *

><p>In Golgotha, the chaos of the initial attacks had finally subsided, and solid battle lines had been formed between the Imperial Guard and the xenos. The supply lines to the north half of the Spire remained open, allowing the Imperial Guard to swell across the river. However, attempts to advance further inland across Luesan Island were met with heavy resistance from the entrenched Greenskins. Routine patrols were sent along the canals to shore up holes along the line that the Orks could exploit.<p>

Today, it was Gren's turn to lead the patrol. Captain Caius had the 7th company probing the underside of Southgate Bridge once again. The service tunnels had opened into an underground labyrinth of warrens and side passages that crept down into the undercity. There had been reports from previous patrols that Hive Gangers had been sighted using the passageways. Gren's orders were to clear out any squatters he found that might tip off the Orks to this potential weakness. Corporal Carros was on point, leading the ten troopers further into the warrens.

Contrary to many Imperial Guard regiments, the Vendolanders often employed reserve regiments with no designation to replace casualties. The trooper Gren had encountered in the mess hall had turned out to be a replacement, named Tamm. The 85th had received two replenishments during their tour of duty in Subsector Aurelia. Flinn had been on the first resupply, following the Coalition War. Tamm had arrived in the aftermath of the Tyranid invasion, fighting with 8th company against the Chaos incursion until the reformation of the Vendolanders. Chance had thrown him into Gren's unit.

Tamm annoyed Gren. He seemed resentful of his position as a reserve, despite seeing some of the worst combat during the Aurelian Crusades. He was always making snide remarks towards the company veterans, and he made no attempts to hide his jealousy of the regiment's actions on Typhon. It was all Gren could do not to punch the smug private's face. He settled for having Tamm bring up the squad's rear.

"Thank the Emperor we're out of that blasted snowstorm at least," joked Gren. "You'd need a bear's skin to stay outside for more than a minute."

"I think they have bears on Cadia," said Flinn. "That Colonel Moran from the Xenobane had a big furry cloak. I think they call them Ursidae. The thing's paws were as big as the Colonel's face."

"What is a bear, anyways?" asked private Rast.

"No idea," said Gren, shrugging. "That fellow Remer, from 4th company told me about it, once. Some kind of big, furry animal, the size of a truck, or something. He said that some Space Marines ride them." The squad laughed at the idea. The absurd image of an eight foot tall knight atop his noble, fat steed made Gren chuckle.

"And you believe that?" muttered Tamm.

"As a matter of fact, I do, private," said Gren. Remer might have been from another company, but there were few soldiers in the regiment who hadn't at least heard of the man. It was hard to ignore the effect that his death had taken on morale, and he wasn't about to let some arrogant little upstart speak ill of the man.

The ceiling shook above them. The gun batteries from Temple Hill were commencing their daily bombardment. In the past four days, the relentless sound of basilisk and thunderer fire had faded into background noise for Gren. Underground, he welcomed the reprieve from the cacophony.

Carros raised his hand for the squad to stop. Gren dropped to one knee, lasgun aimed down the passage. "All right, this is as far as second squad made it before turning back," said Gren. "We go in, clear the tunnel of any hostiles we find, and report back to HQ, got it?"

"Aye, sir," said the squad.

"Very well then, lads. Carros, lead on." Five hundred meters further, the passage opened up into the vast chasm that was the Undercity. The faint daylight fell through the cracks and holes of the Hive's surface, offering meagre light to the underground expanse. Gren peered down over the side of the walkway. Below, the curved metal and rockcrete that formed the support domes holding up the Hive bulged outwards for hundreds of meters.

Streets and rail lines zigzagged between the support domes. Coming from the bocage countryside of Vendoland to Meridian had been a shock for Gren. Even to this day, after years living on the planet, it still baffled his mind as to how so many people could live in such cramped conditions. And yet now, the entire Spire was empty. Across the chasms, there were no signs of life.

As they descended it became blisteringly hot. Scalding hot steam billowed from cracked pipelines, and waves of heat flowed upwards. The amount of power needed to power a Hive City was immense. Enormous geothermal energy furnaces were buried deep in the crust of the planet, and they burned so hot that even the intense snowstorms of Meridian's winters simply turned to vapor in the Undercity. Freezing cold water, pumped down from Lake Aradine came to a boil as it cascaded from open floodgates into huge reservoirs at the base of the domes.

There's no way we can cover all of this alone, thought Gren. Carros continued to lead them further downwards. More tunnels dotted the support dome. They would have to clear them one at a time. A few vagrants scattered as they pressed down the passage. Gren fired a few shots at their feet to encourage them to move a little faster.

They were the emaciated, the rejected, and the exiled members of society. Too late to heed the evacuation warnings, the people still living in the Undercity were little more than human vermin. Gren pitied them for their inability to help themselves. "Ignorance breeds innocence", the preacher had said at several sermons. Well look where that's gotten these wretches, thought Gren.

* * *

><p>The squad met their first resistance at a tram junction. Hive Gangers, armed with stubbers and knives, were holed up in the operator's booth. As the squad approached, they fired a warning shot, plinking off Carros's shoulder pad. Protected by his flak armor, Carros immediately hit the ground, rolling out of the open. Gren barked at the men to take cover, and they dove behind anything solid. A stub gun wouldn't pierce armaplas, but it was never wise to take chances.<p>

Tamm and Flinn fell in beside Gren. "Bloody hive gangers," spat Tamm. "One grenade and they're dead. Shall I do the honors, Sarge?"

"No, we're just supposed to clear them out, not start a street war," said Gren. Tamm rolled his eyes and gave a little huff. Gren nudged him sharply. "Hey, boy, that's enough. You listen to me, and you might live. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the target. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," said Tamm sullenly." Flinn's eyes darted from Tamm to Gren, and he tensed up a little bit. Gren had fire in his eyes.

"Say that again, private," Gren said icily. "I think you missed something."

"Understood, _sergeant._ There, is that better?"

"For now." Gren signaled to Carros, who was crouched behind a bench. The corporal peaked over the top, and then motioned to Gren. Five targets, all in the booth. Gren grabbed a smoke grenade from his belt. "See here? Nonlethal. All right, on three, we go," he whispered, gesturing to the other troopers. "One, two, three!"

Gren lobbed the grenade over the barrier. At the same time, Flinn popped up and fired a shot at the booth, shattering the glass. The cap on the smoke grenade burst, and white smoke came billowing out. The ten Guardsmen leapt over their cover, storming the tram station. They fired sparingly, seeking only to intimidate the Hive Gangers. The thugs wisely decided better than to stand against ten heavily armed soldiers, and they promptly fled.

One gang member, slow on the uptake, decided otherwise. He brandished a curved knife, swinging it wildly in front of his heavily tattooed face. Tamm rushed forward, despite Gren's protests. The private flipped his lasgun over, bringing the butt of the rifle into the ganger's face with a wet crunch. The man recoiled, clutching his shattered nose. Tamm struck the man twice more in the sternum, knocking him to the ground. Reeling, the ganger scuttled away as Tamm drew his bayonet.

"That's right, you better run, scum!" jeered Tamm, pumping his fist in the air. "Try not to bump into any Greenskins while you're running! We're the frakking I.G!"

Gren simply walked over to Tamm, grabbed his arm and twisted it until the bayonet fell from his grip. He spoke dangerously quiet. "When I say we are just supposed to clear them out, that is what I expect you to do, private." He picked up the blade, showing it to Tamm. "If I see this come out again without my command, you can find a new place to fix it, understood?"

Tamm looked away, resentfully. "Yes, Sarge."

"Knock it off, Tamm," said Marlo. The others murmured in agreement.

Gren was already checking his kit over. "Did I ask for a second opinion? No, so shut it." He monitored the charge on his lasgun. "All right, pack it in, lads. Keep moving."

* * *

><p>The patrol continued like this for the next hour. Occasional groups of stubborn gangers would hole up and then run before the guardsmen could beat them down. It became tedious quickly, being unable to simply end the nuisances while at the same time being shot at. Tamm's surly attitude was not helping. Gren began quoting proverbs just to drown out the private's incessant complaining.<p>

Even bringing up the rear of the squad, Tamm was managing to get on everyone's nerves. The heat, the attitude, and the stressful patrol was all mixing together in a boiling pot, and tempers were bound to flare. Eventually, things came to a head. Carros, constantly on point and watching for threats, had had enough. He stopped the patrol, and turned on Tamm. "If I have to hear one more fething word from your mouth, I'll cut it off and replace it with a vox grill. Shut the hell up."

"Easy, Corporal," warned Gren, wary of the unfolding situation.

Tamm sneered at Carros. "Oh look, the kid doesn't like me. Deal with it, point man. We all have a job to do, right? So do yours. I like the new paint job, bullet scratches look nice on you."

Carros moved like lightning. In a flash, he was in Tamm's face, with an armored glove smacking the smug grin off the insolent trooper. "Enjoy it while it lasts, prig. You can hang out with your gang buddy back there, it looks nice on you." Carros spat at Tamm. The private roared, and the rest of the squad had to hold the two back from tearing into. Tamm was swearing and cursing at Carros, who offered just as many insults in return. Gren finally stepped in.

"That's enough! I don't care if I'm working alongside the thickest Ogryn or smelliest Ratling, but I will not tolerate this behavior in my squad!" He jammed a finger at Carros. "You, get back on point, now. And you, you keep this up for one more second, and you'll have a meeting with the Commissariat. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

Tamm glared at Carros with contempt. Blood was pouring from his broken nose, dribbling over his breastplate. He shook Marlo and Rast off him, and looked at Gren. "Understood, sergeant," he said, half heartedly. Gren took his helmet off, running a sweaty hand over his fading hair.

"Look, it's frakking hot down here, and everyone's on edge. I know nobody likes this kind of busywork, but it has to be done. We can't start fighting each other when there's enough down here to do that already." Gren sighed. "I think we've covered enough ground for one day. Corporal, mark this spot for the next patrol. The rest of you, fall in. Let's get back to camp."

* * *

><p>The patrol began the slow, winding ascent back to the surface. The steam was becoming so hot that Gren's shirt was soon drenched in sweat, and it clung to the inside of his breastplate like sticky cloth. Sweat was dribbling down over his head, his helmet feeling like a boiling soup bowl. He actually found himself missing the blizzard above.<p>

"Saint Ollanius's soul, what is that smell?" said Marlo, scrunching his nose. "It smells like wet grox shit."

"Have you never smelled sweat before, genius?" said Tamm. "We're practically swimming in it." He was met with silence from the other troopers.

But Gren could smell it too. It smelled like a filthy barn that hadn't been cleaned in years, a musty scent with a hint of rancid food. A gust of hot air blew across the empty street, bearing more foul odors with it. Gren gagged on the stench, coughing. Carros had made it back to the surface access tunnel. The door was sealed shut. That can't be right, thought Gren. We made sure it was forced open when we first set out. Something was wrong.

Oh hell, he thought. Gren felt a growing dread building inside him. His gut instincts were screaming to run, that they were in danger. The smell, the sealed doorway. He pieced everything together, just a moment too late.

The door exploded, showering the squad with jagged metal fragments that tore through their fabric uniforms. The guardsmen were thrown from their feet by the concussion wave. Gren's ears were ringing as he stumbled upright. He could hear muffled shouts while his hearing recovered. Around him, the other troopers were struggling to stand. Large, hulking figures were moving out of the shadows, and advancing on the group.

"Orks!" screamed Marlo. The private shoved his shotgun into the hole, firing a blast of shells into the Greenskin's face. The Ork fell backwards, propelled by the impact. A second, much heavier shot fired back. Marlo's chest was blown open by the Ork's own shotgun, plastering the walls with his guts.

"Pour it on 'em, lads!" shouted Gren, finally rising unsteadily to his feet. The tunnel was soon filled with ringing gunfire, echoing across the undercity. The Kommandos must have been lying in wait. It was shocking how easily such huge xenos could move stealthily. Their brutish faces were covered in black camouflage paint, or obscured completely by crude metal helmets shaped to look like a spiked mouth. Dozens of them must have been stalking them, as more Orks appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Rast, Flinn, make for the surface!" shouted Gren. "Get back and warn HQ, we've got a breach!"

The two soldiers nodded, making a run for it. Flinn hesitated, looking back helplessly at his friend. "Flinn, get going. Run, you idiot!" The lad kept looking back, before finally turning away and racing to catch up with Rast. Gren turned back to the fight. He cranked the power setting on his lasgun to maximum, and uttered a war cry as he plunged into battle with the Greenskins.

* * *

><p>The Leviathan's vox operator looked up from his screen. "Colonel, I think we've got something. The Greenskins are on the move. It looks like they're advancing on the forward line. Listening post Omega just went dark, but not before they sent a distress call."<p>

Crassus and Lester rushed over to the operator. "Have you heard anything from the other regiments, son?" said Crassus. "Is it just our sector?"

The operator looked up. His face was white. He slowly put down the speaker, hands shaking. "It's the same all across the line, sir. They're moving on every sector across the island. It's a full scale attack."

"Send an emergency distress call, soldier," said Crassus. "Get as many men as you can to spread the word."

"Aye, sir." The operator began scrambling to adjust his system to the emergency channel. Crassus pulled Major Lester to the side. "Armand, get on the line with Hullen and the PDF units. I want Battery 77 ready immediately. Put the reserve companies on full alert. We will need everyone from the looks of things."

"On my way, Colonel." Armand vanished through the exit from the comms room. Crassus jammed his hands into his pockets, grabbing a lighter and a cigar before leaving for the observation deck. Four days of skirmishing with the outlying Orks. This was their first major counterattack, and the Greenskins weren't doing things halfway. A massive surge across the entire island, Ertrand thought to himself. This would either make or break the Imperial defenses. He was confident that the Vendolanders would be ready for the push. He hoped the rest of the Imperial Guard felt the same.

* * *

><p>The 4th Company was making final preparations for the Ork onslaught. A strip of hab blocks, five hundred meters wide and miles long, had been utterly demolished by Basilisk artillery barrages. This no man's land separated the inner island from the Vendoland's battle line. If the Orks were going to meet them, they would have to cross the killzone. Anything they had done to prepare for an Ork attack would soon be tested.<p>

Kippler pushed his way through the platoons making their way to the line. As assault infantry, the grenadier squads were ill suited for defensive operations, so Captain Uther had divided them for the time being. Alek was busy aiding the medic corps, while Corporal Beryn had allocated the rest of the troopers to other squads for increased support. Lieutenant Hunder had ordered Kippler to get high and spot for artillery. While the company dug in, Soras searched for the highest vantage point he could find.

A hab block, some three layers into the Guard's defense line, rose high above the rest like a grey monolith. Soras and several other sharpshooters settled in on the rooftop, overlooking the battlefield. He had a perfect vantage point to survey the no man's land. Peering through his long las scope, Kippler could make out the Orks, milling about on the edge of the expanse. There were thousands of them, some walking, others clinging to the sides of ramshackle trucks and tanks. More still were mounting their Deff Dreds and Killa Kans. The Orks were swelling on the edge of the field, ticking down the minutes until their capacity would burst, and they would swarm towards the Imperial gun line.

Kippler checked his vox bead. "Mathis, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Corporal," replied Beryn. "Everyone's settled in."

"Good. Keep an eye on Vornas, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"I'll try. No promises," Mathis sounded wary. Kippler couldn't exactly blame him. Vornas had taken Remer's death extremely hard, and over the past few days, he had been extremely hostile to the Daredevil's replacements. The man could snap at any moment, and Kippler was struggling to keep Vornas grounded and focused.

"Just try your best, that's all I ask," said Kippler quietly.

"Will do, Corporal." Mathis closed the channel. Kippler sank into his position, still as a rock. The blanket of snow washing over him from the blizzard only helped to reinforce his cover. Overhead, the roar of the Navy fighters encouraged Kippler. The Vendolanders were as ready as they would ever be. With their backs to artillery, and planes overhead, Soras felt confident in their position.

The Orks began to advance. Slowly at first, the scattered boyz darting across the killzone soon became a wave. Behind the battle line, the artillery batteries on Temple hill began to fire. Between the blizzard and the smoke from the basilisk strikes, it was difficult for Kippler to find priority targets. He waited for brief pauses in the barrage to fire at his targets. He missed more often than he liked, but every Nob that he dropped was one less that reached the gun line.

Something caught his eye, however. Thousands of Orks were swarming forwards, covering the ground in a sea of green. But there was something else out there, obscured by the swirling clouds of snow and debris. Somebody else had seen it too. Far below, Kippler heard somebody shout.

"Squiggoth!"

* * *

><p>Author's note: Updated to fix some continuity issues and some niggling parts I felt needed expanding on.<p> 


	23. Thundering 77s: Beasts of Waaagh!

**Beasts of Waaagh!**

The call sent shivers down the spine of every guardsmen on the frontline. A Squiggoth was a massive creature, towering over even the largest vehicles the Imperial Guard had available. Like ancient war beasts emerging from the shadows, the Squiggoths burst through the black smoke, their handlers riding atop ramshackle bunkers strapped to the beasts' humped backs. Its tusks were as long as three men, its red eyes filled with animal rage. With every step, the ground shook with the force of an artillery blast. The Orks gave them a wide berth, letting the feral beasts lead the charge. Mighty zapp guns and cannons bristled on their backs, flashing harsh yellow light as they fired on the guardsmen.

The Vendoland 4th company lay behind their aegis defense lines, weathering the attack. They were to wait until the Orks were within effective range before firing. Behind them, Leman Russ tanks, disguised as rubble piles, began firing their battle cannons, joining the heavy Basilisk fire from Temple Hill. The charging Squiggoths exchanged fire with the tanks, some shots deflected off of the Russes' frontal armor, while others were torn asunder by direct hits bouncing underneath the gun mantlets. The noise was deafening, but above the roar of explosive rounds, the chanting Orks could be heard, shouting in crude Low Gothic voices. "'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go!" they yelled, shooting sporadic bursts into the air to punctuate their chant.

Beryn Mathis kept his head down, waiting for the order to fire. The Orks were getting closer, with every step, the return fire from the Vendolanders intensified. He grasped his Lasgun, squeezing and releasing the stock as he counted down in his head. Captain Uther was telling the men to hold fire. One soldier began to panic, shaking uncontrollably. The waiting, the noise, and the oncoming swarm of Greenskins had gotten to the trooper. He made a break for it, leaving his post on the line and running for the relative safely of the inner defenses. He made it ten feet before a hand with an iron grip clutched his chest, stopping him cold.

Commissar Connor held the man with one arm, giving him a deathly glare. "Back on the line, trooper," she said, her voice as cold as the winter winds. Connor threw the man to the ground, towering over him. Using his better judgment, the trooper rushed back to the line, still in a panic. Mathis had to hand it to his new Commissar, she didn't need to kill subordinates to get results. He shuddered to think of what it would take to put the woman over the edge, and he certainly did not want to test her patience. His comrades from the 46th Vendoland shared a glance, holding similar sentiments.

"Two hundred meters!" called a spotter.

"This is it, soldiers," said Captain Uther. "Hold for just a little more!" The snipers and machine gunners dotted across the rooftops had sparked to life, striking down scores of Greenskins. The spotter screamed out one hundred and fifty meters. The captain rose over the aegis line, wielding his laspistol and chainsword. "Now, men! Open fire!"

Two hundred lasguns were trained on the Greenskin horde. Mathis felt the hiss of lasgun discharges as the air was ionized by the volley. Kalan and Donovan, his squad's gunners, fired bursts of heavy stubber fire, punctuating the snap hiss of lasgun shots with the steady thud of solid bullets. Mathis watched as dozens of Greenskins simply melted under the barrage. A Slugga Boy was torn into several pieces by the immense volume of fire, refusing to die until a trio of full power lasgun shots from Mathis tore the xenos's head off.

The intensity of the Imperial firepower was matched by the Orks's ferocity. A wall of hot steel peppered the aegis defense wall as shoota boys and flash gits fired back. Dozens of Guardsmen were caught by the Orks' response, ripping through their flak and carapace armor. Mathis spotted a large Ork leading a pack directly at them; a Nob, covered in scrap metal armor and spiked shoulder pads adorned with human skulls. "Vornas, grenade on the big one!" he ordered. The grenadier swapped out his ammo drum, and lobbed a volley at the Nob. The cluster of explosives landed at the feet of the Greenskin just before they detonated. The brute's legs disintegrated from the blast of hot shrapnel.

As the wave of Orks hit their lines, the Squiggoths held back, still trading shots with the Imperial armour, and running amok as their riders wrestled them into position for a charge. Mathis watched the impact of earthshaker rounds tearing huge holes in the Ork swarm, but few hit the large creatures. He focused on the enemies in front of him, and dreaded those yet to come.

* * *

><p>The Squiggoths had reached the firing range of the Guardsmen. Massed fire from tanks, machine gun nests, and small arms fire was only slowing the beasts down, not stopping them. Kippler tried a different tactic. He was aiming for the Orks riding atop the war beasts. Without a handler, a Squiggoth might panic and run, breaking up the Ork horde and giving the Imperials an opening. With each Ork that poked his head out of the metal box atop the lead Squiggoth, Kippler's sharpshooter aim added another Xenos to his kill tally. The Orks aimed the giant, back mounted Zapp gun upwards, searching for the snipers harassing them. Kippler quickly backed up from the edge of the rooftop.<p>

"Everyone, move, move!" he shouted to the other sharpshooters and gunners. The Vendolanders uprooted from their positions, fleeing for the far side of the roof. Behind him, Kippler could hear the buzzing whine of the Zapp gun charging its shot. A blast of hot air washed across his back, melting the snow on his cloak, and then he heard a deafening crash. Kippler chanced a glance back to the ledge. It wasn't there anymore. The entire side of the building had simply fallen away, either vaporized by the Zapp gun blast, or collapsed, raining over the Guardsmen below.

Kippler switched on his vox bead, turning it to the squad's closed channel. "Alek, do you still have your vox pack?" he asked as he moved to a new firing position.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," said a panting Alek. "We've got wounded coming in all over the place. What do you need the vox for?"

"Alek, those Squiggoths are tearing us apart. We need the artillery to focus on them rather than the Orks," said Kippler. "Otherwise we might as well give up the bridge. Do whatever you can, just get me in touch with a gun crew!"

"Alright, Kippler, I'll try," said Alek. "Give me some time, I'll head for headquarters with the wounded."

"Roger that, Alek. Good luck."

* * *

><p>"Alright, alright, set him down on the back, gently now," said Alek, helping hoist a wounded trooper onto a jeep. He turned to the trooper helping him. I'm going with this one, Harrel. I'll send back as many medical supplies as I can scavenge, we'll need all of them." Alek hopped into the passenger's seat and the driver took off. The jeep winded its way down the streets, darting between tanks and personnel rushing to reinforce the frontline. Alek checked his comm bead again. "Kippler, I'm on my way back to headquarters. Where are you now?"<p>

"I'm heading for the frontline, my position was compromised. There's a hab complex on the edge of the killzone that hasn't fallen completely yet, and I'll need to be close for this to work."

"Kippler, are you insane?" said Alek. "You'll be a sitting duck out there, and if that thing doesn't get you, you could be caught in the blast!" Alek's hands started trembling again, like they had when Remer had died. "I can't ask you to do that, Kippler, please. There has to be another way."

"There isn't," said Kippler solemnly. "I know it's risky, Alek, but it's one life against everything. I have to do this. Don't make me pull rank, let me do this as your friend."

Alek sighed, exasperated. "I trust you, Soras. Get it done."

The jeep sped down the thoroughfare. Across Southgate Bridge, Alek could see the titanic Leviathan Command Vehicle, a mobile fortress that acted as headquarters for their sector of Golgotha Spire. The Vendoland, Garredyne, and Cadian regiments operating in the sector all shared the Leviathan, and even it was only one of many similar vehicles coordinating the defense of the Spire. Alek told the driver to let him off at the base of the huge machine before sending him off with the wounded soldier and orders for more supplies.

Alek ran up the wide access ramp at the front of the Leviathan. Aboard the headquarters, he worked through the cramped hallways, pushing aside regimental aides and servitors as he made for the communications room. "Major, major!" Alek blurted, bursting into the comms center. Major Lester looked up from the hololith tactical map dominating the center of the room. His face was strained, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. The major looked as though he had been working all day, and Alek figured he probably had been.

"What is it private? Make this quick, what's happened?"

Alek finally caught his breath, heaving. "I need to get a hold of some artillery. I don't have the codes, sir, but my squad leader said he can do something about the Squiggoths."

"Private, we're currently short on available artillery," said Lester, sternly, "I cannot just 'give' you a gun battery." The major highlighted the Vendolanders' attached gun crews on the hololith chart. They had access to three large batteries dotting the Temple Hill. Red arcs indicated the basilisks' predicted shell trajectories and their intended targets. "We have to rely on carpet barrages, there simply isn't a spotter close enough for us to make an accurate strike that you are proposing."

Alek's vox bead bleeped again. "Alek, are you there? I'm in position, have you got anything for me yet?" Major Lester watched him instinctively put his hand up to his ear. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the vox bead.

Major Lester extended a hand, demanding the bead. "Let me talk to him, private." Alek removed the vox bead from his helmet and handed it to the officer. "This is Major Lester of the Vendoland Consolidated Regiment. Identify yourself."

Alek listened as Kippler's voice came through the vox pack. "Corporal Kippler, sir, 1st Battalion, 4th Company. The Squiggoths are tearing through our frontlines, but I can give you accurate targeting information. If we don't bring these beasts down, the line is going to break."

Major Lester remained unconvinced. "Corporal, I'll tell you the same thing that I told your private. I don't have any guns I can provide you. All of the batteries on Temple Hill are operational already."

"Is there nothing you can do?" pleaded Kippler, "Give me one gun, that's all I need. One gun pointed at a Squiggoth. They're shrugging off small arms, but I'm certain an Earthshaker could bring it down. Sir, please, this could be our only chance."

Major Lester wiped his face of sweat, and sighed. "Are you certain you can maintain a lock on those beasts, Corporal?"

"Perfectly sir."

"Very well, give me your signal," said Lester. "I'll put you through to Murtonn. Do not take my charity lightly, trooper. Make every shot count."

"Understood, thank you sir."

Lester handed the vox bead back to Alek. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Your corporal better be right about this, private, or we're all buggered. Here, use this frequency with your vox pack. It will put you through to the Planetary Defense Force's artillery network."

* * *

><p>Vox Operator Murtonn received the order moments later. "Commander Hullen, new target orders. The regiment needs one gun redirected to coordinates Six-Three-Three, Oh-Four-Two. We have laser targeting for corrections."<p>

The PDF Commander looked down at the Guardsmen. "Understood, mister Murtonn." Hullen exited the soundproofed building, being met with the deafening barrage of artillery. The twelve Basilisk cannons had been firing nonstop for close to four hours, softening up the Vendolander's killzone, and now devastating the Ork horde as it tried to cross no man's land. The very air was thick with the smell of sweat and the heat dispersing from the guns. Grease and oil coated every man more than snow, and the gunners had stripped off their shirts as they toiled away.

"Gun 4, new targeting information!" barked Commander Hullen, "Correct to coordinates 633042! One round, high explosive charge." The loader set the shell in the cannon's breach and slammed it shut. His hearing dulled, the loader and gunner gave a thumbs up to indicate their readiness. Hullen puffed up his chest, and screamed. "Fire!"

The massive thump of earthshaker fire shook the ground, but the crew remained unfazed. They were used to this work by now. For months, the guns had lay silent, untouched since the last crusade struck Meridian. But now, after a week of relentless bombardment, the crews had returned to a steady routine, undisturbed by the noise, the cold, and the grime. There was only the gun, the target, and the resounding sound of a successful hit. The rhythm was like poetry to the men, uncomplicated, but beautiful.

The shot disappeared into the sky. They didn't watch to see if they'd hit their mark, immediately restarting the procedure for the next shell. The distant sound of an explosion called back to them, carried on the wind. A second shot fired, followed by a third. Whatever lay on the far side of that river was surely suffering by now.

* * *

><p>Flinn and Rast ran as fast as they could towards the surface. The horrible sounds of the Kommandos still fighting the squad further back followed them through the tunnels. It was a horrible reminder, and the guilt Flinn felt for leaving his friends behind nearly pushed him to tears. It was wrong, leaving them back there to those monsters. But Gren had told him to go, and Gren knew what was best for the him. He'd looked out for Flinn, and now, Flinn needed to trust him.<p>

A growling, bestial voice echoed through the corridor behind them. "Get back here, humies! I'z not finished wif ya yet!" The rattle of heavy machine gun fire and the flash of muzzle discharges made Flinn instinctively duck, yanking Rast down with him. The two scrambled across the floor and pressed themselves into an alcove in the corridor. Flinn's heart was pounding as the heavy, stomping footsteps of the Ork Kommando came closer and closer. "I can smell ya, humies. Come out to play, show me yer dakka!"

"What do we do?" whispered Rast. Flinn peaked around the corner. In the dim, flickering lights, he could make out the massive bulk of the Ork. It filled the hallway, his back hunched over and covered in explosives and knives and all manner of weapons. He looked back to Rast, and silently pointed to the trooper's belt of grenades. Rast hastily passed the belt to Flinn. He counted down on his fingers, pulled the pin on the first grenade, and tossed the belt at the Greenskin, before huddling back in the corner and covering his face.

The blast left the Ork bellowing in pain, shortly before the rest of the greenskin's explosives began bursting like firecrackers. Shrapnel embedded itself in the wall opposite the two guardsmen, glowing red hot. Flinn and Rast popped around the corner with their guns immediately on the Kommando. They didn't wait to see if the Greenskin was still moving, they just unleashed volleys of lasfire into the smoky haze. The Ork was reeling, its face shredded by shrapnel, and the unending volley of las bolts blasted every part of its body. Flinn didn't stop shooting until the Ork lay unmoving and charred beyond recognition.

"Bloody hell, Flinn," said Rast, staring at the fried xenos and then back to Flinn. He looked into Flinn's face, and stepped back like he didn't recognize the man. Flinn realized that there were tears rolling down his cheeks, and he had bitten his lip until it bled. Rast nervously stepped forward. "Are you alright?"

Flinn snapped out of it, shaking his head and focusing. "I'm fine, yeah. Come on, keep going. Just... keep going." They continued to run for the surface, leaving the stench of ionized air and burnt Ork in their wake.

* * *

><p>Beryn continued to pour more and more gunshots into the Ork tide crashing against them, even as Captain Uther ordered the company to begin pulling back. Jann Tarls was sliced to bits by an Ork's deff gun as he tried to snap one last desperate shot off. Mol and Vornas were dragging Rejor between them while Donovan and Kalan covered the squad's retreat. Beryn kept waving the troopers back, while the Orks began hacking apart the Aegis defense line with their axes and hammers. All around him, guardsmen were being cut down as the Orks whittled away at the Imperials.<p>

Only Commissar Connor remained, defiantly facing down every xenos that dared challenge her. Beryn watched from an overturned transport in awe while she fearlessly waded into a pack of Sluggas, armed with nothing but her power sword and bolt pistol. She fought like a lion, making striking lunges at the Orks necks, and cleanly slicing their heads off in a vicious swing of her blade. As her body count grew, so did the attention she garnered from the Orks. Rolling over the barricades like a green ocean, dozens more sluggas and shootas joined in the battle with the mad Commissar. She was soon surrounded, even as she continued to hack down the huge Orks.

Mathis thought quickly. "Garrett, Serrt, put your gun on that horde, right now!" he ordered. The machine gunners set their heavy stubber atop the truck, and started shooting bursts into the Ork crowd surrounding the Commissar. Mathis contributed to their barrage, hitting the Orks from their flank and taking at least a dozen down before the brutes knew what had happened. Mathis could see Commissar Connor more clearly now, still fighting in the center of the pack. "Come on, lads, put some more fire in it!"

Suddenly, the Orks were blown apart. A series of precisely aimed grenades landed amidst the greenskins, blowing wide holes in the wall of green. Mathis looked to see where the shots had come from. Standing next to him on top of the truck was Borik Vornas, the Daredevils' remaining grenadier. The giant man's face was a mask of rage, and he yelled incoherently as he continued to lob explosive after explosive at the Orks. The Commissar and her assailants stopped momentarily to look at the soldier standing above them. Connor took the initiative first, jamming her sword into the gut of one ork while simultaneously firing a bolt into the skull of another.

A hungry smile swept across Connor's face, taking a moment to savor her kill. The hesitation cost her. Before he could warn her, Mathis saw a massive Nob swing his hammer at the Commissar from behind. Connor turned too late, and the hammer slammed into her breastbone, knocking her through the air. The Commissar hit the ground hard, skidding into the sidewalk, where she lay, screaming and clutching her chest.

"Commissar!" shouted Mathis. She didn't respond, only able to cry in pain. The Orks, however, heard his voice, and, looking for more sport, turned on the guardsmen instead. They were on their own, the rest of the company had fallen back to the second line. Mathis never let up his rate of fire, even as it took far more to kill even one ork than he'd like. The Nobs leading the pack simply absorbed the lasgun shots, and even the squad's machine gun had trouble piercing their tough hides. Only Vornas's grenade launcher had any success killing the larger orks.

"Oh, to hell with this!" growled Vornas, suddenly. He jumped off the top of the truck and broke off at a run for Connor's slumped body. "What the hell are you doing?" he called back to Mathis. "Keep shooting, damn it!"

"Right, you heard him, boys! Give the man some covering fire!" The three troopers redoubled their efforts, focusing their shots on the Greenskins that had turned their attention to Vornas. The grenadier was a massive man, but even he was dwarfed by the giant Orks. As he ran for Connor, he fired off his last few grenades, before dropping the launcher and leaving his hands in Mathis's hands. Vornas scooped up the wounded Commissar and tossed her over his shoulders.

"He's got the Commissar, fall back!" said Mathis. The gunners packed up the heavy stubber, and broke for the second line. Mathis sprayed a last handful of shots at the Orks until Vornas was past him before he joined the squad's retreat. The ground shook, and a great animal roar echoed overhead. Rounding the corner of a half destroyed hab block, one of the Squiggoths that had wrought havoc upon the frontline stared directly at Beryn. He promptly picked up the pace, running as fast as his legs would carry him. The beast roared again, its heavy footsteps shaking the earth and tearing apart the defense line like it was made of paper.

* * *

><p>The hab block had been blown wide open by the destructive zapp guns mounted on the war beasts' backs. Kippler crept over the collapsed roof, taking care not to dislodge loose debris and give himself away. The 4th company had fallen back to the second defensive line in a scattered withdrawal, leaving only a few resistant squads to die by the hands of the Orks. Similar reports had come in across the regiment's emergency channels, it looked like a full retreat. But Kippler was sticking to his plan. He had a Squiggoth to kill.<p>

The Orks rolled over the frontline, followed by the heavy footsteps of Kippler's target. Through the skeleton of metal girders, left bare against the cold wind, Kippler followed the bulk of the Squiggoth, remaining in its blind spot. He fixed the laser targeting beam to his long las, screwing it into place in the bayonet socket. Kippler settled into the shadow of a fallen beam, and tracked the monster's head. As the xenos rounded the corner of the building, the massive head came into view. This was Kippler's chance. He had to hold the Squiggoth in place, and let the basilisks do their work.

I must be crazy, he thought. Kippler lined up his rifle with the Squiggoth's glaring red eye. As soon as he had a clear shot, the sniper squeezed the trigger. The high powered shot would have bounced off the beast's scaly hide, but Soras's aim was true. The Squiggoth's eye evaporated, and the massive creature recoiled in pain. Rearing up on its hind legs, it thrashed wildly, slamming into the side of the building. Kippler continued moving along the ruined floor, keeping the laser sight trained on the target. "I've got the target zeroed, artillery, light it up!" he said into his vox bead.

"Ordnance is on its way, Corporal," responded the vox operator. The sound of streaking shells filled the air mere moments before they struck their target. The earthshaker rounds disintegrated the Squiggoth's armored back in a plume of black smoke and high explosives. Shot after shot struck the creature with such force that the foundations of the hab block shook beneath Soras's feet. Its insides pouring out of the horrendous gashes carved in the beast's side, the Squiggoth collapsed into the hab block, crushing the weakened supports and bringing the entire building crashing down atop it and it's handlers.

Kippler was moving the moment the Squiggoth had been struck. He'd been in falling buildings before, and to turn around and look was precious time wasted. He thought quickly about his escape options while the floor gave way behind him. As he ran, he reported to the artillery. "Target hit, I say again, target is down! Moving onto the next one!" Soras leapt through a hole in the floor and hit the ground running. The roof was coming down around him, and downwards was the only direction he could go.

An alleyway a chasm deep was wedged between the two hab blocks. It was narrow, narrow enough that Kippler could try and jump for the other side. Through blasted out windows, Soras looked desperately for any ledge or handhold he could reach. Eyeing an air conditioner unit, Kippler made a run for it. At the edge of the building, he jumped, praying to the Emperor that he would make it. His feet left the Hab block just as the next floor fell away completely.

As he fell through the air, he felt a deep chill run through him. He was going to miss it, surely. There was no way a person could make that jump, how could he have been so stupid? He was going to die, falling until he struck his head on the way down. At least it would be quick. He'd hit the ground so quickly, he wouldn't feel a thing. It would be a nice way to go, in a flash. The air conditioner was still in his eyes. Soras reached out, stretching his hand, desperate to grab onto anything at that point.

If it was his fate to die, it wouldn't happen that day. Soras managed to grab onto the large unit, smacking into the side. He swung his other arm up and pulled himself on top of the air conditioner, breathing a sigh of relief. Soras sat there, watching the Hab block crush itself under its own weight. The massive complex began to sink into the ground, as the weight of the top broke the foundations, and the entire building fell into the undercity, leaving a gigantic sinkhole in its wake. The Imperial Guard's prepared battlefield stretched out in front of Soras, uninhibited by any sight. It was still covered in Orks, and several more Squiggoths were still marching on the Guard line.

His vox bead bleeped again. "Corporal, please respond. Do you have another target yet?"

Kippler sat there, limp, vaguely listening to the vox as the operator repeated the question. Finally, he answered. "Affirmative, 77, I've got a clear view from here. Marking targets and waiting for your thunder."


	24. Thundering 77s: Counterattack Part 1

**Counterattack, Part 1**

The Vendoland 4th Company pulled back to the 1st Battalion headquarters. As the Orks pursued them, they encountered layer after layer of defenses designed to slow the xenos down. For the moment, the 4th Company had been pulled off the line, and Captain Uther was overseeing the removal of his wounded before the company returned to their positions. He directed another wave of ambulances to their triage station. The medics were working quickly, sorting through who could be saved and whom were already too far gone.

The company had been hit hard by the first attack. Of the two hundred men in the company, some forty casualties had been accounted, and over a dozen had been outright killed. Lars tried to reassure himself that he'd made the right call by pulling out. It was either lose a handful of his men, or all of them. But still, he thought about each man who'd fallen. As Captain, he'd made it a point to connect with his troops as best he could. Even with the recent reorganization, Uther had taken time to meet with the replacements that had been shuffled into 4th Company.

Lieutenant Hunder approached the captain. "Well, Jorin? Any sign of them yet?" asked Captain Uther. The grenadier lieutenant looked terrible. His face was covered in blood, and fragments from a fresh explosion had flecked his left cheekbone. "That looks bad, are you alright?"

"No sign yet sir," said Jorin. He wiped his face down, leaving streaks of blood over his uniform. "Trench Skippers reported in about ten minutes ago, but I've had no luck finding Kippler or the rest of the grenadiers. The squad's vox channel has been dead quiet, but they were seconded to other squads for the attack. They might have come in with some of the others. I'll keep searching, sir."

Lars grabbed Jorin before he could leave. "All right, you keep looking for them," Uther said, "but first, I want you to get that looked at. I need you healthy, Jorin. If it's serious, get it fixed, understood?"

"Yes sir," said Hunder hesitantly. The man was jittering and swaying in place. Having one of the medics look him over might help calm him down. The lieutenant wandered off in the direction of the field triage. Uther tucked in his hands and sighed. He couldn't afford anymore officer casualties. He was already down his two senior NCOs thanks to Meridian's damned internal security, he didn't want to lose anyone else. Hell, he couldn't even find Connor anywhere, right when he needed her. The whole force was a scattered, disorganized mess.

Hundreds of new troops from the 2nd and 3rd Battalions were moving up to reinforce the battered 1st's battle line. The Battalion could use some much needed relief after the hours of trading shots with the Xenos invaders. Fresh tanks from the 46th followed the infantry, sweeping past the 4th Company on their way to the fighting.

Uther headed for the command post. It was little more than a mesh canvas draped over some poles to keep the snow out. Inside, several intelligence officers were going over a large map, a paper one, unlike the advanced hololith charts Regimental Headquarters had. Uther admitted the charts were woefully out of date, but that was Imperial record keeping for you. At least the main thoroughfares were the same. Captain Falk, their liaison from headquarters, was currently pouring over the map, marking new positions for 1st Battalion's companies. They were closely packed together, using overlapping fields of fire to slow the Ork advance.

Uther hunched over the map. They had given up five blocks to the Greenskins, but so far, the layered defense was holding. The Orks were paying for every step they took, and luckily, the Squiggoths had been stalled at the frontline. The Vendoland second and third battalions were marching forward to reinforce first. On their flanks, the Garredyne Rifles had achieved similar results, while the regiment had heard nothing concrete from the Cadian Xenobane. A few scattered transmissions had made it through, but there was no word whether they had pulled back, or if they were still holding the main line.

Uther studied the map further. A railway ran along the length of the Luesan canal. It had been cut off from the northern half of the spire in the opening phase of the invasion. However, it could potentially act as an artery for the guardsmen to move soldiers up and down the line relatively safely."Falk, that rail line runs the length of the river, right?"

"It looks that way. What about it?"

"Somehow, we need to connect with the Cadians," said Uther. He ran his finger along the rail line, stopping on the Cadian's last known whereabouts. "If they've held out, our retreat has just opened a gap for the Orks to flank them. We need to close that gap before the Greenskins get wise and exploit it."

Falk followed Uther's trace across the map. "It's possible, sir. But if the strike force was noticed, they could easily be surrounded. We still have a few thousand Orks to tend with on our own."

"2nd Battalion is here now, and our lines are holding," said Uther. He had an idea. "Get me a channel to command." The intelligence officer walked over to the vox communicator and came back with a speaker, which he handed to the Captain. "This is Captain Lars Uther, Company 4/1/85."

"Go ahead Captain, what's this about?" asked Major Lester on the other side.

"Request permission to take a strike force and reconnect with the Cadian regiment, sir. We've discovered a route along the old railway that could move troops swiftly and with little resistance. Our retreat has put the Cadian's right flank at risk. I intend to close that breach."

"Understood Captain, permission granted," said the Major. "Gather the resources necessary, I'll leave this operation under your control. Contain the breach, and re-establish communications with the Xenobane, is that clear?"

"Perfectly sir."

"Very well then, move at your own discretion, captain, good luck. Major Lester, out." Captain Uther handed the vox back to Falk. He straightened his helmet and stopped at the tent flaps.

"Thank you, Captain," said Uther. "Keep Command posted on my progress. I'm off to round up some men."

"Aye sir," said Falk. As Uther left the tent, the intelligence officer relayed the message to headquarters. Uther paced up and down the street, thinking to himself. How many men could he muster for this operation? Would they even get there in time? He needed backup.

* * *

><p>Beryn helped Kalan and Donny lift Mol onto a stretcher, while Vornas hoisted the unconscious body of Commissar Connor into the emergency ambulance. A jeep pulled up beside the ambulance, and Alek jumped out, his arms laden down with medical supplies. Setting them aside, he went to inspect the wounded. "What are their injuries?" he demanded. The young private became deadly serious around wounded, working with a determination and confidence rarely seen by his squad mates.<p>

"Lannik's caught some fragments in his leg," explained Beryn as Alek marked the trooper's forehead. "The commissar got hit by a Nob."

"How bad?" said Alek, looking over Connor. inspecting the wound, he peeled back the Commissar's coat, now caked in blood. Her sternum was cracked and her right shoulder was a bloodied mess of bone fragments and raw flesh. She was coughing up blood, and her breath was ragged and uneven. "How long has she been like this?"

"No more than twenty minutes," said Beryn. "Can you help her?"

"I can't do much here but stop the bleeding, she'll need to be moved to the med center," said Alek. He unwrapped a length of gauze, offering one end to Mathis. "Hold her steady while I wrap this. She's going to need a surgeon for anything more." Alek carefully dressed the wound, and then stabbed a needle filled with a clotting agent into Connor's neck. The wound slowly began to scab over as the injection went to work. He then hopped out and helped load the rest of the truck. As it drove away, Alek wiped the blood off his fingers and stood beside the corporal. "Did you bring her back in, then?" he asked.

"No, Vornas brought her back," said Mathis, shaking his head. "I almost couldn't believe it myself, especially after the other day."

Alek remembered the vicious glare that Vornas had given Connor after she refused to let him retrieve Remer. The grenadier now stood by himself, away from the rest of the company. Alek had noticed him growing increasingly distant over the week, but he was still nervous about approaching Vornas. Nobody wanted to test his anger. "I don't understand him, sometimes," said Alek. "But he never strikes me as one to leave a person behind, even if he does hate her."

"You think that's why he saved her?" asked Mathis, doubtful.

Alek shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he just wants to kill her himself."

The ugly business of tending to the injured continued for another ten minutes, until the last stretcher had been loaded, and the final ambulance was on its way back to the med center. Captain Uther called for a gathering, and the remaining men of the company formed a circle around him. Nearly forty men had been hit, leaving the 4th company short-handed. Arms clasped behind his back, the Captain addressed the remaining soldiers. "At this time, the Cadians are the only regiment in our sector still holding the forward lines. That is an act of bravery we can all aspire to, but it won't last. I've been given permission to lead 4th company along the railway and prevent the Orks from outflanking our comrades.

I know we're depleted at the moment, so I've called for aid from the 2nd battalion, and they have agreed to supply us with armour support to cover our flanks. I want every trooper restocked on ammo and supplies, and ready to move out in half an hour, understood?"

"Aye, Captain!" shouted the company.

"Good, report to your COs and prepare to move out." As the company dispersed, Uther caught sight of the Grenadier platoon. "Grenadiers, come here for a second." The two squads circled the captain. "You men are the vanguard for this operation. You see any Orks, you engage and call for reinforcements, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," nodded Hunder. "Corporal Kippler hasn't reported in yet, sir."

"You mean he hasn't come back?" said Alek, a tinge of panic in his voice. Captain Uther looked at the private questioningly. Alek explained, "Kippler was spotting for the artillery, Captain. He was on the frontline the last I heard from him. I got him in touch with the PDF crews, and then, nothing. He closed his vox bead."

Uther sighed. "Very well. Corporal Mathis, you're acting sergeant. Follow Hunder's orders and keep your head down." Damn it, Uther thought, looking to the Daredevils. "Have you seen any sign of Commissar Connor?"

"She took a hit, Captain," said Mathis hesitantly. "We sent her off with the wounded."

Uther's face turned to stone. Instinctively, his hand went to his shoulder. The synthflesh had fully integrated with the damaged tissue, it had been for nearly a year. But to Uther, he could still vividly remember losing his arm, and how Connor had paid for his replacement. And now she had been hit as well. "I see," he said eventually. "Thank you for bringing her back, men."

"Yes sir," said Mathis. The corporal looked wary, afraid he'd said something wrong.

"Carry on." Uther walked away, slowly processing the news. It was a fact of war that one person was as vulnerable to a bullet as the next. But it would still take Uther time to reconcile seeing someone close to him in that situation. When a trooper was killed, he felt empathy and regret, but he'd learned to live with it. But Connor, she was different. Worry washed over Lars in a way he hadn't experienced since he was an officer cadet. He wished that Mathis hadn't told him at all. His mind was split between preparing for their attack and fearing for Connor's life.

* * *

><p>Kippler crept along the terraced rooftop, stalking his next target. Despite nearly being killed at least a dozen times marking the Squiggoth's positions, the only thing going through his mind was the lack of Ork aircraft. Throughout the first week, Kippler witnessed dozens of dogfights above the Spire. But now, the skies were eerily quiet, as the Navy had managed to gain air superiority over Golgotha. The Navy's atmospheric fighters had been redeployed over the lake, making continuous strikes against the Ork Rok that had embedded itself in the water. Kippler would have given his right arm for some close air support at the moment, but he had to make do with his eyes and the skill of the gunners he kept feeding coordinates to.<p>

Snow whipped into his face. The ground below was covered in a sea of green. Thousands of Orks were rampaging over the strip and into the narrow streets along the Canal's edge. Kippler wouldn't even need to aim well to guarantee a kill. But he was on his own, against a million greenskins. Prioritizing the Squiggoths was his first and only goal. The remaining war beasts had run amok, trampling friend and foe alike. Gazing over the building's lip. Kippler drew a bead on the nearest Squiggoth.

The beast's heavy footsteps were breaking through the weakened surface layer of the Spire. Such intense shelling from the Imperial guns had severely damaged the support domes that held up each layer of the Spire. Several of the leveled buildings had already collapsed into the abyss, leaving gaping holes in the surface crust exposed to the elements. Kippler trained his long las on the panicked beast, transmitting the targeting feed to the gun battery. A moment later, the artillery rained true once again. Six concentrated earthshaker rounds hit their mark, battering the Squiggoth. As it collapsed, the immense weight was too much for the weakened ground, and the Squiggoth tumbled into the undercity, leaving another sinkhole in its place.

"Marked, target hit. Other targets clear of the firing zone. Thanks for your help, arty." Kippler packed up his gear and moved again. He flipped his vox bead back to the squad channel. "This is Corporal Kippler, does anyone read me?" he asked. Being so focused on aiding the gun crews, Kippler had not contacted the Daredevils in over an hour. The signal was very weak, he must have been on the very edge of the vox channel's radius. A voice cracked through the static.

"Corporal Mathis here, Kippler," said Beryn. There was an audible relief in the man's voice. "We thought you were dead."

"Well, I soon will be unless I get the hell out of here," muttered Kippler while he quickly moved along the building's edge. "What's your situation?"

"Rejor and Lannik got hit, Rejor couldn't shake it," said Beryn solemnly. "There wasn't anything we could do for him. Captain's got us advancing along the railway to reinforce the Cadian's. Looks like he wants to buy some time for the regiment to regroup by drawing the Orks our way. They want to know where you are."

"I'm on my way back to the CP," Kippler said hastily. He dropped down several flights of stairs along the fire escape. "The Orks haven't spotted me yet, but there's a lot of them between me and you."

Beryn's voice crackled. "Hold on, somebody's just accessed the channel. It's Lieutenant Hunder. He wants to speak to you."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

Hunder's stern voice spoke. "I want you to stay put, Kippler, do you understand? Do not try anything stupid to get back here. Take cover inside, you won't last two minutes on foot on the ground. The area is crawling with greenskins."

Kippler stopped his descent, flopping his arms in exasperation. "So what do you want me to do then? Just sit here?"

"That's exactly what I want you to do. Get inside, and stay low. Just trust me on this on, Corporal. Captain Uther has a plan, and if it works, we'll grab you as soon as we can."

Kippler sighed, "Yes, sir, by your order." He cut the vox bead channel and walked over to the window along the fire escape. He shattered the glass with his rifle butt and climbed inside. The room was all dull metal, and only barely lit from the grey light passing through the broken window. Kippler pulled down his night vision goggles and gently slid the door open, walking into the pitch black hallway with his weapon ready for anything that he might encounter.

* * *

><p>Lester and Crassus watched the second and third battalions march past the Leviathan Command Vehicle. Crassus could see the smoke far down the road ahead, where the battle with the Orks still raged. Flecks of snow melted in Crassus's coffee as the wind picked up again. What a ghastly day for combat, he thought. Come rain or shine or blizzard, it was all the same to scum like the Orks. Crassus took another sip, and then addressed Armand's report. "Well, he certainly is willing to take the initiative. If Captain Uther's detachment can close the gap with the Cadians, we will advance. With all three battalions, we should have enough men to push the Orks back."<p>

"Yes, sir," said Lester, nodding in agreement. " I'll relay the information to the Garredyne Command. I've also received word that our gun batteries have effectively crippled the Orks' war beasts. A man from 4th Company managed to provide accurate coordinates."

"Excellent, Armand," said Crassus. "Perhaps we will get a lucky break today."

"That's one way of looking at it," said Lester. "If he hadn't put his life on the line, we'd be pulling back across the canal with a dozen of those monsters chasing us."

Crassus set down his cup, and pulled his greatcoat tighter around him to ward off the cold air. "Well, put him in for a medal, then. Selfless acts don't go unrewarded. It will be good for morale. Emperor knows we could use some with this damn weather."

"Yes sir," Lester said bluntly. Crassus looked at him. Lester's face was drawn, and he kept fidgeting in place. Crassus could tell something was bothering Armand.

He looked hard at the Major. "Armand, speak plainly with me. No rank, no insignia, just as a friend. You're not comfortable here, are you?"

Lester's face betrayed his words, even as he spoke them with unconvincing ignorance. "What? No, Ertrand, I'm fine. It's nothing, really."

"Cut the bullshit, Armand. You're not happy, I've known you long enough to see that. You're not a desk jockey, and you're not one for being on the receiving end of orders. You belong out there, with the men, right? That's what you want."

Lester's face contorted as he tried to summon the words. "Er, well, you see... oh sod it, yes, Ertrand, you're right. I hate this busywork. Give me a pistol and a bayonet any day over another goddamned servitor."

Crassus chuckled, and then smiled at his friend. "That's what I thought. Tell you what: grab your combat gear, and grab a ride. I want you up there with 1st Battalion when we move. I need somebody I know can get the job done right, and you're as good as I've got. Wait for the word that we've linked up with the Xenobane, and then advance."

Lester positively beamed. He snapped off a salute with a big grin on his face. "The Orks won't know what hit them, sir."

As Lester left to gather his gear, Crassus reflected on the past years. They were the old warhorses now, as strange as it seemed. Sicarus Plateau, Angel Gate, Spire Legis, Urizen, Crassus and Lester had gone through all those campaigns together, as partners. And now, here they were running the entire regiment together. It seemed like the job for old men with large beards and monocles, men like the Artemian General Derim. But Ertrand was barely thirty five. Most of the men in the Vendoland regiment had joined at the minimum age, eighteen. He'd been older than most when he was selected for officer duty, but by the whole, the 85th had been an army of young men.

Now he looked at them. The youngest man was still well into his twenties, with years of time in the field. They had changed. He no longer saw the faces of young boys. They were replaced with the hard stares of men who had seen too much. How things changed, he wondered. Soon, they'd be an entire army of old men. But it was such a pleasant comfort to see that enthusiasm in Lester again. Both being promoted to Major at the same time, Crassus had taken to management duties much better than Armand. When it came time to depose of their previous commander, Crassus had been the obvious choice to lead.

He trusted that Armand would not disappoint. He knew that the man would never forgive himself if he did, either.

* * *

><p>The advance up the railway was swift, and it wasn't long before the 4th company made contact with the enemy. Orks continued to flow through the gaps in the line, and Uther's troops had almost immediately come under fire. Backed up by Chimeras and Leman Russ tanks, the infantry engaged the scattered Orks in close quarters fighting. Sporadic fire between abandoned rail cars and constant ambushes by cunning Ork infiltrators kept the guardsmen on their toes. But the company pressed onwards, meeting every blow with a tenfold return.<p>

At the forefront of the column, the grenadier platoon carved a pathway for the rest of the company to follow. Even in their depleted state, the two squads held their own against the Greenskins. Lieutenant Hunder rallied his men, focusing lethal hellgun fire on the Orks. Sergeant Ennis dashed forward, followed closely by the 2nd squad. He peeled around the front of a train, slicing into the Orks from behind. Hunder and the Daredevils passed through the links in the rail cars, hitting the Orks flank. Together, the two squads routed the pack of Orks, clearing the path for the rest of the Company to advance.

The railway ran the length of the Spire, from the warehouses along the coastline to the edge of the dead zone. It was a straight shot to the Xenobane's position. Lars led the 4th company as swiftly as he could. He was determined to make the Orks pay. What had started as confusion and aimlessness had flared into white hot anger. Connor was in the hospital because of those green vermin. Every person they had hurt would be avenged. He'd use his bare hands if he had to.

"Gunfire up ahead!" called Hunder. The grenadiers halted, leaving their weapons aimed down the railway. The 4th company gathered up behind them, flanked by their armor. Captain Uther grabbed the ladder on a boxcar, climbing up to address the assembled soldiers.

"All right men, this is it!" roared Uther. "Mortars, find a hole and dig in. 2nd and 3rd platoons, you're with me, we're going up the middle. Follow the grenadiers through and link up with the Cadians. Everyone else, find targets of opportunity, and lay into them. No prisoners, no mercy. For the Emperor!"

As one, the Vendolanders rose, guns ready. Uther revved his chainsword, hatred in his eyes, and fire in his heart. Raising his weapon high, he led the charge. Ahead, a sentinel walker was hastily backing up in the face of a pack of Orks, its flamer scorching them to a crisp. The vendolanders quickly moved to fill the gap, pushing into the oncoming horde. Uther waved down the sentinel, and the cabin lid popped open. "Captain Uther, 85th Vendoland. What's the situation?"

"Communications were cut, we've been trying to re-establish our lines with the rest of the forces in the sector. The Orks have been giving us a pounding," said the pilot.

"Get word back to your commander. We're advancing on the Orks. The other regiments will wheel around to link up with the Xenobane and crush this attack. Tell the comms to switch to the Vendoland emergency channel, we'll use it to relay information until we can get the main lines back up."

"Aye, sir, on my way!" The sentinel pilot saluted and turned his vehicle back towards the Cadian headquarters, racing off with long strides. Lars turned back to his troops. They were driving into the narrow streets, using what cover they could find and liberally firing explosive shots at the Orks. Uther joined 2nd platoon, slowly creeping up the road behind one of the tanks. The Russ's huge battle cannon blasted apart buildings, and its side sponson bolters turned the narrow advance into a death trap for anything out in the open.

Constantly, Orks continued to attack them. Breaking out of buildings, they would tangle with the guardsmen in close combat. Troopers were hacked and torn while their bayonet strikes struggled to find their mark. Uther slashed at the Orks, cleaving bone and flesh with every strike of his chainsword. An Ork Nob leapt from a window above, bringing its huge chainaxe down on him. Lars fell to the ground, bringing up his own sword, and revving the blade again. The teeth caught the Ork's weapon, and the motion snapped back their weapons. Lar's sword was wrenched from his hand, while the Ork's axe jerked wildly before embedding itself in the side of the Russ.

While the Nob worked to yank his weapon free, the Captain scrambled to his feet, drawing his bolt pistol. Seeing him coming, the Nob used his free hand to throw a punch at Uther. The blow connected solidly with his breastplate, knocking the wind out of him, but he kept coming. He ducked under the greenskin's next swing, and brought his pistol up into its ugly face. Uther fired two shots point blank into the bastard's skull. The rounds exploded, showering him with brain matter and chunks of green flesh. The Nob's twitching body fell to the ground, its axe still stuck in the tank's hull.

Uther stumbled backwards, gasping for air. Liutenant Lonnis grabbed him by the arm and held him upright. "Are you alright sir? Are you hit anywhere?"

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," said Uther, still breathing heavily He waved Lonnis off. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. Keep them moving forward, we're almost to the Cadian frontline."

Vox operator Relt ran up to the Captain's side. "Sir, the Cadians are on our channel, I put them through to Command. They're readying up for the attack, waiting for us to link up."

Finally catching his breath, Uther spoke. "Let's not keep them waiting then. Driver, let's get this tin can moving a little faster! Everyone, at the double."


	25. Thundering 77s: Counterattack Part 2

**Counterattack Part 2**

Commander McTavish didn't bother to brace himself as another Greenskin rocket struck the side of the Baneblade, _Kasr's Pride_. It was times like this that he couldn't help but laugh. The Baneblade was the mightiest armored vehicle in the Imperium. It would take more than a few poorly assembled xenos rockets to break its iron hide. He peered through the periscope again, lining up his next target. A Deff Dred walker was crawling over a growing pile of wrecked vehicles. McTavish grinned as he set the clumsy machine directly in the center of the targeting reticule.

"I've got you now, you alien fiend." he said, grinning devilishly. "Topper, lascannons on the rust bucket. Fire!" The tank's side mounted lasers glowed blue-white as they charged. Two armor piercing beams hit the Dred, one blowing its leg off, the other hitting the cockpit. McTavish laughed out loud as the machine popped like a fiery balloon. Scrap metal, that's all the Orks could make. Just pathetic.

The Baneblade was the lynchpin for the Xenobane's defense line. Gathered around the superheavy tank, the guardsmen had been able to throw back everything that the Orks had sent their way. The massive pile of destroyed Greenskin armor was a testament to the ferocious power of the mighty tank. Alongside _Kasr's Pride, _a dozen Leman Russ tanks and well entrenched machine guns had turned the landscape into a killing field for the Cadians. The Xenobane more than lived up to their name and reputation.

Vox operator Zene spoke up. "Commander, we've got a priority message from command. We're to switch over to the 85th Vendoland's emergency channel. They're saying a detachment is on its way. The comms are hell right now, I could barely manage to make out that part."

"Do it then," ordered McTavish. What was command up to, he wondered. They were holding just fine. They didn't need the Vendolanders bailing them out. Nine thousand Cadians was an army by itself. He rolled his eyes. Fine, whatever, it was Command's call. He didn't have to like it, he just had to follow orders. Raynis had never let McTavish down before, so he'd go along with the plan.

McTavish opened the turret hatch, and pulled himself out. He surveyed their positions. The Cadians had formed a crescent, expanding out into the leveled strip of buildings. The Ork chants could barely be heard over the constant snap hiss of lasgun shots, filling the air like a swarm of buzzing insects. Hundreds of Orks would come at their lines, and hundreds would die before they got a shot off. The full fury of the Baneblade's arsenal would decimate their attacks, leaving the survivors easy prey for the guardsmen's rifles.

A series of explosions to the right of their position caught McTavish's attention. Spilling out into the open, a squadron of tanks, followed by some two hundred Guardsmen in olive green armor emerged from the alleyways and began pouring fire into the Ork's flanks. The enemy diverted their attention to the small group. So, thought McTavish, these were the Vendolanders. He was interested to see what they were made of.

The 85th cut a wedge into the Greenskin tide in a three pronged attack. Each column was led by one of their Leman Russ tanks, providing supporting fire for the infantry advance. Assault squads would break forward and engage the Orks with deadly close range fire. Mortar teams and machine gunners would move up to their comrades positions and lay on deadly bursts of fire and explosive shot, and the assault squads would move further ahead. At any time, two or more squads were covering one another, hopping from one island of cover to the next, all the while raining hell down on the Orks.

McTavish was impressed. They had good unit cohesion, and they knew how to maneuver. But their biggest draw was their courage. In the face of a giant horde, lesser units would have ran. But the Vendolanders were pushing through with mounting casualties to reach the Cadian's position. McTavish watched several of the squads be chewed up by the Greenskin's deffguns before the mortar teams had time to set up. McTavish keyed the Vendolander's emergency Vox channel into his comm bead. "This is Cadian armored command. Put me through to your Company commander assisting our right flank." The operator obliged, and McTavish was soon speaking with Captain Uther, the man leading the strike force. "Captain, I have you in my sights, and I am ready to assist. _Kasr's Pride_ will cover your approach. Tell your forces to break left and make for our positions. Use the trench line for cover."

"Copy that, commander," said the Vendoland Captain. McTavish dropped back inside and relayed the targeting data to his gunner. The Baneblade's massive main gun slowly rotated until it was aimed squarely at the Orks pursuing the oncoming Guardsmen. On his commander's order, the gunner fired. The massive shell struck the center of the Ork pack, engulfing them in a fiery explosion. The coaxial mounted autocannon fired into the smoke cloud, tearing up the survivors. Halder, his right sponson gunner, rolled his twin linked bolter around as well, adding a barrage of explosive rounds to the mix. It was like music to McTavish, each gun complimenting the other and adding their own unique method of execution to the melody. And he still had six more guns supporting the Cadians, just in case he was worried about running out of targets.

* * *

><p>The ground around Mathis was exploding as Greenskin dakka nipped at his heels. The Daredevils made a mad dash towards the trench, aiming for the muzzle flashes of the supporting Cadians, perched atop the hill. Mathis frantically slammed shots into the Orks that continued to pour over the debris and into the trench. The path was funnelling the Guardsmen into narrower and narrower spaces, until the trench could barely accommodate two men abreast. They were entirely reliant on the covering fire from the Cadians to keep the approach from becoming a meat grinder.<p>

An Ork leapt down in front of Mathis, staggering him backwards. He managed to snap off two shots before he fell, but the Ork was undeterred. The other Grenadiers came to his aid, shooting dozens of rounds at the Ork before it could bring its axe down on Beryn. Serrt offered him a hand and pulled Mathis to his feet. They shared a nod before turning back towards the Cadians.

At the head of the company, Uther had reached the Xenobane's positions. While the Leman Russ tanks brought up the rear of the group, the Vendolanders dropped into cover, bolstering the Cadian's staunch defense. Uther headed directly for the massive Baneblade at the center of the formation. The air shattered with each shell fired from the tank's main gun. Uther clambered up the side rails. The turret hatch opened, and Commander McTavish popped his head out expectantly. "Well, Captain, you're here now. What do we owe the pleasure?"

Uther leaned against the turret, keeping his head low. They had to shout over the deafening gunfire. "Everything west of your position has fallen back to the second line. If you cut across the expanse, we can catch the Greenskins in a crossfire. My men managed to clear the rail lines behind the lines before the Orks could use them to outflank you."

McTavish nodded. "What about our left flank?" he asked, pointing to the teeming horde of Orks still throwing themselves at the Imperial bulwark. "How're we supposed to advance with that hammering at our sides?"

"Have you got any reserves?" asked Uther, thinking quickly.

"Aye, Colonel Moran's men are the rearguard, should we need to fall back. Not that we need to, mind you." The tanker slowly grinned as he realized what Lars had in mind. "Have them come up and hold this point, allowing us to move forward, eh? I like your thinking, Vendolander. Give me a few minutes on the vox. I'd get your men ready."

As the guardsmen fell into formation, the Orks continued to batter against the Imperials. Mountains of bodies were piling up across the Cadian's lines of fire, and the xenos had slowed to a crawl as they climbed over their fallen comrades. Captain Uther couldn't make sense of their strategy, if they even had one. Orks were always reckless fighters, but there was often a cruel method to their chaotic ways of fighting. Ork tactics often left Imperial Guard units overstretched as they tried to handle countless, seemingly random attacks across an entire battle line, but here, the Orks had been easily funneled into well prepared killing fields long set up in advance. The brute force of the Greenskins had been blunted by the heavy Imperial defense line.

The uncoordinated attacks were still taking a heavy toll on the defenders, but Uther knew that they would hold their ground. He put his trust in his men's skill. Commander McTavish called him on the vox line. "Ready when you are, captain. Try to keep up!"

"Copy that. All right men, advance on my mark!" Uther waved his chainsword forward, and the attack was soon underway.

* * *

><p>Nine thousand Cadians charged into the green tide that was the Ork horde. Unceasing, unrelenting fire from tanks, rifles, machine guns and mortars left a path of complete destruction as the Imperial Guard slashed the Ork lines in two. Vicious melees broke out where the fighting was thickest among the shattered buildings, where Ork axes were met with Imperial bayonets. Tanks traded shots with the Orks' ramshackle vehicles, while Sentinels and Deff Dreads maneuvered around each other for the best vantage points. Across a wide front, the Cadians smashed the scattered Orks, isolating large groups before crushing them one by one.<p>

At the center of it all was _Kasr's Pride_, the mammoth Baneblade. The enemy ran at its sight, their will to fight drained away by the tank's inexorable advance. A line of Cadian and Vendoland armor pushed straight through the center of the xenos, moving swiftly down the city streets crisscrossing the shattered buildings. Captain Uther's Vendolanders kept pace with the tanks, using them as mobile cover while they pushed further westward, looking to connect with the Vendolander's main battle line.

The fierce close quarters fighting brought vivid memories to the front of Lars's mind. The chaotic battle for Angel Gate at the height of the Tyranid War had been savage. From every angle the monsters had come charging at the disorganized guardsmen. The power grid had been disabled, and the defensive bastions were being overwhelmed. And in the center of it all, he saw her for the first time, standing firm in the face of impossible odds. Connor's courage and inspiration had saved countless men in that battle. Uther shook the memories from his head before he drowned in them, returning to the present. Connor wasn't here, and he had to handle on his own.

A large overpass lay ahead, teeming with Orks. Rockets and explosive shells rained down from the high ground. The Greenskins were holding their ground. Uther shouted into his vox bead. "I need an HE round on that bridge!"

He could almost hear the grin on Commander McTavish's lips as the tanker responded. "Aye, Captain, one round HE coming up!" Behind them, the Baneblade adjusted its demolisher cannon. The enormous shell lobbed over the Imperial Guardsmen, landing squarely in the center of the tightly packed Orks. Following the dissipation of the smoke and charred remains, Uther was already leading another charge up the ramp, followed by Vendolander and Cadian alike.

The Orks were dazed and battered, and the rush of guardsmen overwhelmed them. The greenskins were brought down by gunfire, bayonets and chainswords, some being dragged to the ground by a dozen guardsmen. A stray round struck the man next to Uther, taking his head clean off and spraying blood wildly. Half blinded by blood, Uther continued to wade into battle, swinging his sword at anything green until it was little more than a blunt club. The remaining Orks promptly ran before the onslaught.

* * *

><p>The orks were scattering. Their attack had been rebuffed, and the Imperial forces were free to make a sweeping advance across the battlefield. The Xenobane's right flank reported making contact with the 85th Vendoland. They were pursuing the retreating Orks and were driving them back along the highway, directly into the Cadian's path. Commander McTavish quickly ordered the left flank to sweep around the main line, closing the gap and cornering the remaining Orks. With their line's cut off, the trapped Orks flung themselves recklessly against the Imperials, hacking and shooting in a desperate attempt to escape. While casualties were heavy among the guardsmen, by the fighting's end, nearly ten thousand Orks had been slaughtered in the encirclement.<p>

With the mass of Orks littering the roads, Chimeras with dozer blades were brought in to clear the way, while the leading elements of the Cadians pursued their targets into the distance. The killing fields belonged to the Imperial Guard, with the further expanse of the Island's cityscape towering above them. When the last Orks had been driven off, the Cadians and Vendolanders finally breathed easy for the first time all day. The Cadian armor formed up, leaving their engines idling, while troopers simply dropped to the ground, resting their weary limbs.

A Vendoland command Salamander pulled up beside _Kasr's Pride_, and Major Lester jumped off, followed by a group of aides. Commander McTavish climbed down from the Baneblade's turret and greeted the Major with a firm handshake. "Nice to see another regiment here that can handle their own in a fight." McTavish gestured to Uther, "Your Captain here is a good man, Major, not many men would pull a stunt like that and live to tell about it."

Lester adjusted his cap and eyed Uther closely. "Indeed, Commander. I was only informed of your actions after the fact, Captain. You commandeered a tank squadron for this expedition?"

Captain Uther shuffled on his feet. He spoke carefully. "I operated on my own initiative, Major. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I understand regulations and command, but, given the circumstances, I felt I had no other choice. Vox lines were down, and one man wouldn't have made it on his own."

The Major gave a thin smile. "Don't justify yourself, Captain, I'm not angry. Your gambit paid off, and it is a sign of a good officer to take whatever advantage he is offered. You saved two regiments a heap of trouble. Good work, soldier."

"Thank you, sir." Lars internally felt a wave of relief.

Lester waved McTavish to his Salamander. "Now, we need to consolidate on our gains, Commander. We've been given an opportunity to strike further inland, and I will not waste it. Captain Uther, gather your men, I'm pulling you off the line for rest and recuperation. I damn well say you've earned it."

"Aye sir, thank you." Uther saluted, which the two commanders returned as they left. Lieutenant Lonnis, watching the exchange from a distance, approached his Captain after the Major had retired. The lanky man had an amused expression. "You know, Captain, I don't think I've seen Major Lester crack a smile. What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything, Baird. When was the last time he was actually in combat? I thought he'd be pushing pencils for the rest of his career." Lars shrugged, and rubbed his numb hands to warm up. "It doesn't matter. Gather your platoon, Lieutenant. We're being taken off the line for a while. Hot food and warm showers for the men. Let them relax a bit."

Lonnis beamed. "Right away, sir. Who should I say this reward comes from? You, or the Major?"

Lars sighed, and leaned against the Baneblade's tracks. "Say you thought of it yourself, for all I care. Just see that they get the message. I've got somebody I need to see."

Lonnis grinned, and nodded knowingly. He saluted, and set off to gather the men. Uther lifted his chainsword to examine it. The drive chain still worked, but several teeth had been broken off or dulled beyond use tearing through Ork armor. He would need a new one. His flak jacket was scorched and scratched across the breastplate, and huge chinks had been gouged in both his shoulder plates. He reckoned that he must look like hell, his fatigues were drenched with sweat and blood, maybe his, maybe the Orks'. It didn't matter to him right now. There was only one thing tugging at his mind, so much as he tried to focus on something else.

* * *

><p>Captain Caius shook his head and turned to look back at the desperate Private. "I told you, Flinn, it's out of the question!"<p>

"But he could still be alive, sir!" pleaded Flinn. "He would never leave one of us behind, and I can't do that to him either."

Caius paced back and forth in front of the entrance below the bridge spanning the Luesan canal. Sergeant Gren's squad had been on patrol and had run into an Ork ambush. Two troopers, Flinn and Rast, had run on Gren's orders, while he had stayed behind to hold off the Orks. That is where the story ended in Caius's mind. He pointed to the tunnel. "Private, I understand that you care for him, but I cannot send men into a slaughter to save a man that for all intents and purposes is already dead. It's too dangerous to mount a rescue. We're moving out in the morning, and I need every man ready, not wasting time chasing after ghosts. Now come on, back to base, soldier, that's an order."

Flinn wept bitter tears, and glared accusingly at Caius. "Yes, Captain," he said through gritted teeth. Caius knew the men thought him a callous man. He didn't care what they thought, only that they followed his orders. Gren had been emotionally unstable for years, but he had never faltered enough for Caius to demote him. Dying taking down Orks and covering his men was probably the best that Caius could have hoped for. It saved him from dealing with the sergeant when he would inevitably snap. He would keep an eye on Flinn though. He knew that the two had been close. The young man would need to be watched carefully.

Trooper Rast waited for Flinn on the stairwell leading up the bridge. Climbing the steps up to the bridge, Rast put his arm around Flinn's shoulder to comfort him. "It's alright Flinn."

In a rage, Flinn threw Rast's arm off him and pushed him away. Through angry tears, Flinn shouted at Rast. "No! It's not alright! They could still be down there for all we know!"

Rast, wary of Captain Caius watching them, pulled Flinn aside. He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "Then what are you going to do about it, Flinn? You go down there yourself, you're going to get yourself killed, and I'm not about to let that happen, either. So, it's not what you're going to do. It's what we're going to do. I'm coming with you. One way or another, Gren and the others will be brought home, no matter what the Captain thinks."

Flinn nodded feebly. "Okay, okay. So when are we going to do this?"

Rast glanced back to Caius, and then embraced Flinn. "Keep your head down and don't turn around. We'll go tonight. Give me a few hours to grab some things, and meet me by LP 5, down the canal. I'll take care of the guys on watch, you just get there without anyone noticing, and we'll go ahead with this, got it?"

"Got it."

"Good," Rast let Flinn go and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Flinn. Everything will be alright. It just takes time." Rast gave Flinn a subtle wink. Flinn followed after him. Captain Caius watched them go through squinted eyes. He took one last look at the dark service tunnel, shook his head, and returned to camp, muttering under his breath.

* * *

><p>Across the western sector, the Imperial Guard had pushed deeper into the Ork held territory on Luesan Island, with the Cadian Xenobane and the Vendoland Consolidated regiments at the forefront. Spurred on by their actions, several other regiments mounted attacks of their own. By the early evening, the line had advanced a further ten kilometers inland before stiff Ork resistance finally brought the advance to a stall. The Imperial Guard forces were approaching the nearest Ork Rok, which the Greenskins were using as their base of operations. New defensive lines were quickly established beyond the range of the fortress's large guns.<p>

It was also by this time that the sector's Leviathan Command Vehicle had finally arrived. The massive vehicle slowly came to a halt. The Guard had liberated a supply depot, built for handling large transcontinental haulers. The Leviathan was nestled snugly within one of the loading bays, shielded from above by the depot's solid domed roof. Inside, the regimental commanders were busy discussing their next move. The tactical room was filled with officers and representatives from each unit. The Cadian Colonel stepped forward, and the room was hushed.

Colonel Raynis Moran addressed the assembly. "This will be a short meeting, gentlemen," he said. "At this time, West Sector regiments are the furthest inland. The Central, East, and Coastal sector groups are still bogged down by heavy resistance. I have received orders from General Derim to hold out until our supply lines are secured and the other Sectors have been brought under control. We were lucky today; the Orks were careless with their assault, throwing everything at us without thought or reason. I do not wish to demean the actions of our men, but I fear that our success has less to do with their skill than a lack thereof by our foes.

"I believe that our gains are due to the fact that the Warboss of this invasion has yet to reveal himself. With a central figure to gather around, the Orks become a much deadlier opponent. The heavier fighting that our allies have faced this past week leads me to believe that the Warboss is operating further to the east. When the Rok split apart in orbit, the enemy leader must have been on one of the fragments that landed elsewhere."

Colonel Laradis of the Garredyne Rifles was a thickset man, many years older than Moran. From his seat around the hololith chart, Crassus watched the heavy officer swagger to his feet. A monocle was pinched between his low brow and folds of baby fat around his cheeks, giving him an unpleasant squint. When he spoke, it was a low, rumbling drone that made Crassus's ears rattle.

"To hell with Derim's orders," bellowed Laradis, throwing up his arm. "You said it yourself, Moran, the Greenskins in this sector are little more than a disorganized mob. We should strike while we still have the advantage! Let us march on that blasted Rok by morning."

"I have no control over any regiment other than my own, Laradis," said Moran. He leaned over the table, meeting the Gerredyne's squint with a hawkish stare. "However, General Derim does. And despite that, I would still be inclined to agree with him. I never charge headlong into a battle before I know I can win it. I leave that detail to Commander McTavish."

Behind Moran, McTavish snorted, and a small chuckle rippled through the crowd. Moran continued. "I suggest caution as our first course of action. Our priorities should be dealing with problems we encountered today, most importantly with our lines of communication. Colonel Crassus, I understand that it was one of your Captains that helped re-establish our line between my Cadians and your Vendolanders, correct?"

Crassus cleared his throat. "Yes sir, Captain Uther proved to be invaluable." Beside him, Lester nodded in agreement.

"Give him my thanks, then," said the young colonel. "We need a more effective means of coordination between our regiments, men. These winter storms are playing havoc with our Vox systems. I suggest that every regiment provide volunteer runners to maintain the flow of information.

"There is also the matter of verticality. Fighting in a Hive can be a logistical nightmare, and it is a weakness that the Orks shall undoubtedly try to exploit. What we faced today was merely a surface assault. The Undercity may well be swarming with Orks, allowing them to infiltrate behind our forces. With our supply lines stretched thin for the moment, I also recommend an expedition to the Undercity to seal off any entrances to the surface that might threaten the main supply routes. Fighting the Orks down there in force only serves to tie up our forces that are better used clearing the surface. Without the support of the Orks up top, the Undercity forces can then be mopped up in due time."

"I have had patrols running sweeps below the surface, Colonel," said Crassus. "Mostly to clear out evacuation stragglers. We've had some reports of Ork activity near our bridgeheads in recent days."

"All the more reason to press this matter, then," said Moran. "There is little more to say. Until we have a better understanding of that Rok's capabilities, we must hold here, and resolve our own problems. I have nothing else to say, so let us end this meeting. May the Emperor watch over us this night. In His name we trust."

* * *

><p>Stranded in Lake Aradine, Smashface's Rok had nearly completely submerged into the freezing waters. Only the last minute activation of a flash freeze device the Mekboy had inadequately explained had stopped them from sinking entirely. The entire fortress shook from the repeated bombardment by the Imperials' air force. Smashface had had enough. Any Gretchin, Boy, or Nob unlucky enough to get in his way while he stormed down the corridors was promptly reminded of his authority with a hard smack. One gretchin had been particularly unlucky, and Smashface wiped what was left of him on the doorway to the Mek's workshop.<p>

"Seven days!" he roared as he crossed the room with a menacing gait. "Itz been seven bloody days, Mek! You said dat da devices would be ready free days ago! I wuz bein' nice, so I let yer have sum extra time!"

"Er, I said four days, boss," said the Mekboy, cowering in the corner. Smashface just growled and tossed over a table laden with the Mek's experiments.

"Doesn't matter! Have you got it finished or not? An' it better not be da second one!"

The Mek nervously fiddled with his hands, not daring to look the Warboss in the face. "Well, technically, boss, dey is finished. But da testing still needs to be done befor' I can propaly opera-"

He was cut off by Smashface before he could finish the sentence. "You just said dey're finished! I don't care about 'field tests' or 'experiments'! Dey're done, an' we're gonna use dem now! I didn't come 'ere to let all da snivelin' grotz do all da fightin' while I froze me pants off on a sunken Rok! Now, get da fings ready for da morning. Dis'll be a real WAAAGH! soon enuff!"

As Smashface stomped his way towards the exit, the Mek spoke up tentatively. "But, it'll take me a couple o' hours to get dem running, boss. I need summore time."

Smashface turned around and gave the Ork a murderous glare. His typical bellow dropped to a deadly growl. "Den I suggest you begin immediately, Mek."


	26. Thundering 77s: Friends in Dark Places

**Friends in Dark Places**

Merrick and Hurst sat silently in the small chamber. Days must have passed, Merrick guessed. He'd lost track of time. The Techpriests had not been cruel to them, but neither had they been kind. The two soldiers had seen that they were fed, if processed protein bars could be considered food. But nobody had spoken to either of them, and they had heard no word from Talros. All Merrick could do was mull over what Logis Corsis had said when they had been cornered days ago.

Commissar Connor a traitor. It just didn't make sense to him. A hardliner for discipline, sure, but Merrick could never believe that she would actively betray the Imperium. Just what had happened while he had been imprisoned? How did she play into Talros's little conspiracy theory? He wanted the truth, not more questions and shady assignments. And he wanted out of this damned room. His last wish was soon answered, much to his surprise.

The steel door flung open. Rather than the usual servitor arriving with their daily food, a short, red robed priestess entered the room. The top of her head had been replaced with cybernetic implants, and the flesh around her mouth and chin had begun to suffer the effects of necrosis. Small chunks of skin dangled freely from her face. Her voice was unusually soft for such a ragged exterior. "Logis Corsis will see you now. Follow me."

Two Skitarii guards marched behind Hurst and Merrick, each pressing a gun into their backs. The priestess led them down winding corridors with no windows, further and further into the bowels of the forge. Merrick tried to count the number of turns they made, should they get the chance to escape their captors. It was a maze, and he soon gave up. A shaped charge pointed directly upward would give him a better chance than trying to navigate this labyrinth.

They passed countless servitors, each with a large, boxlike implant embedded in their heads. They were chained together at the ankles, slowly shuffling down the tunnels while being guided by lesser priests. Nobody stopped to give them a second glance. Merrick doubted they were even aware of his and Hurst's presence. Cogboys were all the same, barely regarding your existence, unless you caused trouble. And right now, two guardsmen being marched down the halls at gunpoint was someone else's problem, so the others paid them no notice.

They arrived in front of a large iron door, labeled the office of the Priest Logis. The two Skitarii moved to flank either side of the entrance, while the priestess activated the console. The doorway split apart, slowly opening multiple layers of blast bulkheads "You must enter, and speak with the Logis alone. I am not permitted in his presence," said the priestess, lowering her head.

Merrick glanced at Hurst, then shrugged. The priestess bowed and moved away as they entered, and the door sealed shut behind them. The chamber was half lit, with creeping shadows filling the corners of the room while harsh white light casting itself upon the contents of the office. Dominating half of the room was a large table, covered in graphs and charts. Small miniature designs littered the workshop, some of strange robotic limbs, and others appearing to be scale models of solar systems Merrick knew nothing about. The wall to their left was covered in video screens, each one switching between several different cameras across Angel Forge.

Logis Corsis waved to them with a bony hand. He sat in the center of the room, plugged into a massive chair through cables attached to his skull. With his hood down, Merrick got a good, long look at the techpriest's skeletal face. What little skin was left was stretched tightly over his bones, and his nose had completely rotted away, leaving two slits from which various tubes attached to inner augmetics. His eyes were mechanical, glowing a fearsome blue. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with metal; his voice box was artificial. "I will be straight to the point, guardsmen. You are in a position to be of great use to me. I need your help."

Merrick crossed his arms. "To do what, exactly? You could have just asked us, I don't know, a week ago, rather than throwing us in a box."

Corsis's gaunt face didn't change, but there was an exasperation in his tone. "We required such time to properly interrogate Aldan Talros. Relying on such archaic verbal communication extends the process. As your Arbiter is of no further use to us, I have now turned to you. If you will-"

"What have you done with him?" demanded Hurst, pointing an accusing finger at the priest.

Corsis was irritated. "If you will let me finish without any more extraneous interruptions, I will tell you everything. Talros is not who you think he is. He is an impostor, a man who has used you to further his own delusional need for vengeance. As it happens, his goals and ours are the same. We both wish to see Magos Dolthem dead for his treachery. I simply happen to have the proof that he was searching for."

"An imposter?" said Hurst, raising his eyebrows. "Nonsense. We worked with him in the past. He has always been with the Arbites forces. He helped save Governess Derosa, why would he turn traitor?"

"Oh, has he?" said Corsis, emotionless. "Then his deception has played out much longer than I believed. And despite what you may believe about the unwavering loyalty of the Adeptus Arbites, there are always cowards and traitors among all branches of the Imperium. Aldan Talros was from Spire Legis, you see. It seems he was one of the lucky ones to escape that city's fate. He told me that he joined the Adeptus Arbites under a forged persona. Perhaps he wanted vengeance, perhaps he simply wished for a better life, it doesn't matter. What does matter is what Talros did next.

"During his interrogation, he revealed why he wished to go forward with this infiltration. As I said, Legis was his home, and now, it is rubble. Losing all he knew to the Ruinous Powers was hard enough for the man, but to see it destroyed in radioactive fire put him over the brink. So he seeks to blame others, and find justice for his lost home. And this act of vengeance brings him much closer to the truth about the conspiracy plaguing Meridian than he would ever have realized. Aldan Talros was correct: Magos Dolthem is indeed a traitor to both the Imperium and the Cult Mechanicus.

"As Logis of the Cult Mechanicus, it is my sworn duty to predict trends and future needs for our sect. No data passes through this Forge without my consent. Magos Dolthem knows this, so he has had me under surveillance for nearly a year. We both hold leverage over the other; I am unable to make my knowledge of his treachery public, and he cannot silence me without throwing his precious forge into anarchy. Thus, we are in a stalemate.

"When our sect was sent to Meridian to repair Angel Forge, we had no idea just how far the damage had spread from Chaos's corruption. Even now, entire regions of the Forge are unusable, as the taint of Chaos is still too great."

Merrick flapped his arms against his sides. "Great, another chaos tainted warmonger with more gears than brains in his skull. So what happened next?"

"As you may have noticed over the past few years, Magos Dolthem has appealed to Governor Derosa for more aid and security forces for Angel Forge. This is nonsense. Those men were never to be used for security. Dolthem used them to venture into the dark recesses of the manufactorum, searching for safe passages and treasures that might help him restore the Forge to its former glory. None of the searches came back, save for one. And that expedition returned, with Dolthem claiming an immeasurable prize. A standard template construct."

"A what?" asked Merrick blankly.

Hurst spoke up. "A standard template construct, Merrick. They are ancient analytical blueprints from the pre-Imperium days. Mere fragments can change the course of history with the wealth of technological knowledge they hold. Finding a fully intact one is thought to be impossible."

"Indeed, it is impossible," agreed Corsis. "I had my doubts that Dolthem truly did find anything down there. And my suspicions were confirmed. There was no STC fragment on Meridian. Those new tanks you may have noticed on your way in? There is nothing ancient about them. Magos Dolthem has been inventing new designs without consent of the Fabricator General. This is the ultimate heresy among our order. Dolthem has no desire to further the will of the Mechanicus, he has succumbed to his own greed and ambition. He would see this whole world burn around him before he gave up his designs."

"But how do you know this, then?" asked Hurst.

"Like I said, trooper, no data passes through this Forge without my knowledge. And I have had centuries to hone my skills at identifying a fake. I knew of your arrival in the Forge the moment it happened. I quickly deduced why you are here, and how I could use you to my own end.

"There is something very wrong with this Forge, that no mechanical repairs can mend. It has an influence on people, a madness. The crime of invention runs rampant within these foundries, and yet I am powerless to stop it. Should you fail in your task, all Meridian shall suffer for it."

"Then what would you have us do?" said Merrick. "You killed Talros when you finished interrogating him. Why should we believe you would do anything else to us when we outlive our usefulness to you?"

Corsis peeled his lips back in an approximation of a smile. "I didn't kill him, he merely ceased to be useful for information. Talros's body will be put to good use among the Forge workers. Though, you are wise to question me, trooper. You are correct, you have no reason to trust me. However, this is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of death now or later. If you refuse, you will die here, now. If you accept, you may live to see another pointless battlefield to throw your life away on. It's your choice."

Merrick growled, but grudgingly accepted. "Not much of a choice is it? Seems to be a week for this sort of thing. Fine, we accept, priest."

"Indeed," said Corsis. He clasped his bony hands together, and rose from his chair, pulling the cables free as he did so. "We have much planning and preparation ahead of us if this is to succeed."

Hurst raised his hand. "Wait," he said. "Before we go any further, there is still one thing I must ask. You said that Commissar Connor was involved in this. How? What has she done?"

Corsis leered at Hurst, and brought himself up to his full height. The priest towered over him on his spindly limbs. He placed a deathly cold hand on Hurst's shoulder, and brought his head down to stare the sergeant in the face. "It is not what she has done, soldier. It is what she is going to do, when the time comes."

* * *

><p>The sky was a murky grey, slowly turning to black as the moons of Meridian struggled to cast their glow through the thick layer of storm clouds. Flinn peaked around the corner of the barracks, watching for night patrols. He hefted a large sack over his shoulders and took a deep breath before crossing into the open. The streets were illuminated by spotlights. Flinn hid his nervousness as one of the patrolmen began to approach him. The trooper wore an MP badge, and he raised his hand for Flinn to stop.<p>

"Where are you going, soldier?" he asked skeptically. "Lights out is in fifteen minutes. What's in the bag?"

"Just uniforms, sir, from our casualties. I offered to drop them off at the quartermaster's," Flinn said. He steeled himself and looked the MP in the eyes. "Honestly, sir, that's it."

The MP wasn't convinced. "We'll see. Open the bag." Flinn obliged. He set the bag down and let the MP rummage through the contents. After a few moments, the MP stood up. "All right, you're not lying. Carry on, trooper, and be quick about it. Lights out is in a few minutes."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," said Flinn, and he picked up the pace. When he was safely out of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. He really was going to drop them off at the Quartermaster's, but hiding his true intent for being out so late was nerve wracking. After dropping off the bag at the supply depot, he quickly made his way towards the listening post where Rast was waiting for him.

Rast was alone when Flinn found him sitting in the emplacement. The listening post rested at the very edge of the Regiment's western perimeter, watching the approaches further along the canal. Flinn dropped in beside him. "Where's the watch?" he asked, noting the lack of guardsmen.

"I told them I was sent to relieve them and that you were on your way after you finished dropping off some equipment," said Rast. He pulled out his own sack, and opened it. "Here, I managed to scavenge these off a few bodies. Say what you will about the other regiments, some of them have some really nice kit." Rast presented two sets of rebreathers with night vision goggles, and several las gun charge packs. He held one up to Flinn.

"Managed to find some hotshot packs. Only fifty rounds in a pack, but one shot should be enough to drop a Greenskin. They'll be better than our normal rounds. Hopefully we won't need them, but better safe than dead."

Flinn peered into the bag. "All right, is there anything else?"

"Yeah, there's one more thing." Rast pulled out two headsets. "Short range vox beads with an auspex tracking system. They attach to the rebreathers. If we get separated, or if we find Gren and the others, we'll use these to find each other and get out of there. Are you ready, Flinn?"

Flinn nodded, and gathered the stolen gear. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Lars sat next to Connor's bed in the hospital ward. After the combat support hospital had managed to stabilize the commissar's condition, she had been passed onto a civilian center, located on the north bank of the canal, at the base of Temple Hill. Connor had been struck hard by the Ork's hammer. Her collarbone had been broken, as had several ribs. A mess of gauze and padding was wrapped tightly over the right side of her chest, stained red as she had bled. But she was alive, and that was all Lars cared about.<p>

He held her hand tightly. Connor was tough. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. She would get through this. But to Lars, seeing her like this was difficult. Elle meant more to him than any of his soldiers, and he hated himself for it. How could he sit here and fret over her, when men under his command died horribly? He hated the weakness and vulnerability that he felt in his concern for Elle. And yet, he couldn't tear himself away, much as it would be best for both of them.

Connor moaned, slowly coming to. Lars grasped her and got her attention. She strained a smile and spoke weakly. "Well, this is familiar. I think we had it reversed last time, didn't we?"

"More or less," said Lars, relief flooding through him. "Though, I don't think you'll need a new arm just yet."

"Well, that's reassuring," she said. Connor tried to pull herself upright, but she gasped painfully while trying to shift her weight. Lars leaned over her, carefully helping lay her down. "What's the damage?"

"You took a hammer to the chest," Lars said, "And the doctors believe there might be some complications with your spine. You need to rest for a while, or you'll cause irreversible damage."

"Oh, is that all?" said Connor. She rested her arm on her forehead, looking agitated. "Well, that's just perfect."

"I'm sorry, what? You think permanently paralyzing yourself is a minor inconvenience? It's a few weeks in the hospital while they perform treatments and physiotherapy, not a discharge. The company has been pulled off the line for the time being, I'll come and visit you."

Connor pulled away from Lars, not meeting his eyes. "Don't bother. I'll take augmetics first. I will not be bedridden, not now. I know you only want me safe, Captain, but I cannot stay here."

"Oh, it's Captain now, is it?" said Lars angrily. He stood up, pacing around the bed. "Well then, 'Commissar', what is so important that it cannot wait? What aren't you telling me?"

"You wouldn't understand," snarled Connor. She pulled her blanket over her injured shoulder. "What I do for the Schola Progenum is none of your business, Lars. It is not my decision."

Lars slammed his hand against the wall in frustration. "To hell with what the Schola thinks! Sooner or later you'll need to be honest with me. We can't keep secrets like this from one another."

"I am as honest with you as my position allows me to be," said Connor in protest. "It's for your own good if you don't know."

"Oh, so now you're protecting me," Lars said. "Here I was thinking that you were just going to fuse a metal shoulder onto yourself But of course, it's for my own protection." Lars was fuming inside.

"I wouldn't understand, right. What is wrong with you, Elle?" demanded Lars. "You can't tell me what is bothering you, and you have criticized my decisions for months. You've changed, and I don't like it."

Commissar Connor's response was short and harsh. "I wouldn't expect you to. Get out."

Lars said nothing. He left the hospital ward, slamming the door behind him. As the minutes passed, the lights dimmed to save energy. Still in her bed, Connor quietly wept.

* * *

><p>Rast and Flinn, clad in their new gear, quickly ran along the waterfront, back towards the entrance to the undercity. They had encountered no patrols. When they reached the service tunnel, they found it sealed. Rast ran his hand across the doorway, muttering. "No, no, no! It's completely sealed, the console's fried too."<p>

Flinn cursed under his breath. "Well, we can't exactly blow it open. They'll hear us."

"Give me some time, Flinn. I'll have to do a manual override." When Rast caught Flinn's look, he added, "Well, what else do you expect me to do?" The guardsmen heard a click behind them. Walking out of the darkness was a man clad in a black coat, brandishing a large bolt pistol. Junior Commissar Provost held both men at gunpoint.

"That's what I would like to know, soldier," said Provost. The young officer eyed Flinn. "Captain Caius told me to watch you, Private. Gren's attitude problems stem toward his subordinates as well, it seems. Now, backs against the wall."

The guardsmen hesitated. Provost waved his gun menacingly to reinforce his point. Flinn slowly put down his lasgun and pressed himself against the wall. Rast did the same, not taking his eyes off of Provost. Without taking his gun off them, the junior commissar walked around them. "Now, troopers, here is what is going to happen: you two are going to face punishment for treason. Do you know what that means? It means I'm going to execute you. Now, Captain Caius told me that he would like to take you alive to be made an example of, but you see, I don't answer to him. I administer justice on my own accord, where I see fit, and when I see fit.

"Right now, I see two guardsmen attempting to gain access to restricted territory, in spite of express orders from your commanding officer, and a decree from headquarters that the undercity is to be sealed before purging may commence. Entering the underground at this time represents a severe security breach, and I cannot allow that." Provost leveled his gun at Flinn. A cruel grin crossed the Commissar's face. "Let's start with Gren's little protege."

Flinn squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. There was a sudden snap hiss, followed by a thump. Flinn immediately opened his eyes again. That was no bolt pistol. Provost was lying in the snow, a large, black hole in his chest where the las bolt had passed through him. Rast quickly pocketed his laspistol. "Frak, I thought he'd never shut up. First rule of cornering somebody, Flinn: always keep their hands where you can see them. Commissar junior here must have missed that part. Help me move him."

"You just shot the Commissar!" hissed Flinn.

"He was about to shoot us," said Rast. "Only one side was going to come out of this alive, so it might as well be us. We'll have to take him with us before we can find a place to dump the corpse. They'll never find it in the undercity." The two dragged the body over to the wall and propped him up beside it while Rast worked on fixing the console. Finally, the doors slid open. "Well, I guess we're murderers now, too. Come on, we don't have much time. Somebody was bound to have heard that."

Flinn hauled Provost's body inside. Rast quickly worked to seal the door behind them. As it closed, he and Flinn switched on their night vision, rendering the pitch black hallway a crisp, visible green. "We can't come back this way," said Flinn nervously. "and Provost said the undercity was sealed under orders before the army sends a purge team through."

"Uh huh," murmured Rast. "I never said this would be easy, friend. We could be down here longer than I thought."

* * *

><p>Valeris couldn't move. As she slowly regained consciousness, she realized her hands were tied behind her back. Her whole body ached, and her head was spinning. She remembered... crashing? Yes, she had crashed into the undercity. And then, she had been bleeding. The last thing she remembered was stumbling into a building before finally passing out. How long ago that was, she had no idea. Where was she now?<p>

A small, portable generator sat in the middle of the room. The device let off a weak orange glow, and it let off heat that was entirely too uncomfortable for Valeris, already sweating from the undercity's thermal emissions. Craning her neck around, Valeris took stock of the room. It was filled with supplies; guns, ammunition crates, food, tools, vox packs. It was a veritable stockpile. She must have been in some storage container.

Rolling onto her back, Valeris noticed that her wounds had been bandaged. Her flight suit was shredded, but whoever had fixed her injuries had done a good job with what little they had to work with. Yet that raised another question. Just who had found her and placed her here?

She tried her restraints. They were bound tight, and she couldn't loosen them a hair. Giving up for now, she contented herself to wait. Her captor or savior couldn't have gone far. Several hours passed before Valeris heard the sound of the container hatch turning. She pulled herself upright, sitting in the corner furthest from the hatch. She wasn't afraid, but she was still wary of the newcomer.

The entrance opened a sliver, and a disheveled man wearing a ragged cloak slipped in before swiftly swinging the door shut. He breathed easy. "Thank the Emperor for that," he said to nobody in particular. His eyes spun around and focused on Valeris. "Oh, good, you're awake at last. It's been a few days, I was worried you weren't going to come out of it. I hope my handiwork helped, I'm not the best with medicine."

Valeris said nothing to the stranger. She ran her eyes over him. He was wearing a large cloak, but underneath, her keen gaze caught the sight of metal. He was armored. The stranger sat down on a crate. "So, what brings you to the undercity, pilot girl?"

He offered her a hand. Valeris gave him a wilting look. "If you want to shake, you might try untying me first."

"Oh, right," he said. "Sorry about that, it's just I didn't want you running away when I wasn't here. That would be no good for either of us." The man produced a knife, and cut the bindings on Valeris's wrists.

Massaging her raw arms, Valeris spoke. "If you know I'm a pilot, then I think it would be obvious to you why I'm down here. Crash landing, thanks to those damn Greenskins."

"Heh, I suppose that's true," said the man with a chuckle. "I guess you could say the same for me. Ended up down here in a crash. I'd say I'm lucky to be alive. Must be the first time that wearing a helmet has actually saved me. I guess there's a first for everything." The man shifted over the crate to give Valeris a place to sit. "Do you have a name, ma'am?"

Valeris answered slowly. She wasn't sure she could trust this man. But, he had saved her, and he willingly set her free. "Valeris Hexus. Pilot."

The man smiled, revealing several cracked and missing teeth. He offered her his hand, and she shook it. "Lenham Remer."

* * *

><p>Author's note: been a while since I've had something to say. I know that my updates are infrequent, but that's just life. I found this chapter difficult to write. There are several ongoing plotlines that don't quite intertwine, and yet they run parallel to one another. So it was tricky bringing them together like this, especially for such a dialogue heavy chapter. But I think it turned out alright, and I had a lot of fun writing the final section. Hopefully you guys like it too.<p>

Watch for Greenskins, boys.


	27. Thundering 77s: Enter Smashface

**Enter Smashface**

Along Golgotha Spire's shoreline ran Lake Aradine. The pollution choked reservoir supplied Angel Hive with water, while a system of canals and traveled throughout Golgotha Spire. The waterways allowed ships of all sizes access to the Spire's extensive warehouses, but now, they only served to hinder the Imperium's grasp on the city.

While the Imperial forces further inland had managed to make strong headway onto Luesan Island, the forces stationed along the coast had faced a week of back and forth fighting. The Imperial Guard held a tenuous position on the north bank of Luesan Canal, unable to push against the entrenched Orks. Xenos infiltrators had used the stalemate to wreak havoc among the Imperials, traveling up and down the canals to strike at weak targets and sow confusion. The battle lines bulged outwards, until both armies had reached the waterfront.

Off the coast lay the primary Ork Rok, embedded in ice. Too far away to be targeted by artillery, it fell to the Navy to bombard the Rok and deal with the still sizeable Ork air wing using it as a base of operations. Marauder Bombers and Thunderbolt Fighters squared off against Fightas and Dakkajets. Wreckage from the aerial duels washed up against the seawall below.

General Tullassar Derim, acting commander of all Imperial Guard forces in Golgotha Spire, had chosen the coastline to be his priority. The Artemian General had formed his defensive plans around his own men, the 6th Urban Brigade, comprising the 31st and 455th Mobile Regiments. Already bloodied in their operations mopping up the remains of the Vandis Uprising, the Artemians were veterans of Meridian warfare. Derim was proud of his soldiers, and of Orias Nolt, their field commander.

The 31st Artemians had fortified Golgotha Harbor. Denying the Orks a landing zone for their soldiers still on the Rok was a primary concern. The Artemians had established a line of gun and mortar emplacements along the dockyards' wide piers, in enfilade of the seawall. They could rain fire down on the Orks from relative safety while the 455th drew the enemy in along the seawall.

Watching from Pier 5, Elliah Fayden and Fenneth Tov manned a heavy mortar, waiting for dawn to break. Every day without fail, the Greenskins had attacked at first light, and every day, their attacks increased with ferocity. The telltale scream of Ork rockets ushered in the first shots of the day. From the south, the Orks were massing in the city streets. Elliah could faintly make out vehicles and Greenskins moving between the buildings, marshalling for the inevitable assault.

The war had not been kind to Elliah. Sergeant Polris had bought it the day they made landfall, along with Ariana and Enalya. Roland had died during a raid on smugglers. Jurek, barely a week after his promotion to Sergeant, had been killed on patrol. Only she, Fenn and Manrey were left. They had quickly been reassigned to the mortar section. It gave her little comfort that they were further from enemy fire.

Lieutenant Rike received a vox message from the section's FO. "Lysander Six, Lysander Six, this is Azrael Four, adjust fire, over," said the observer.

"Azrael Four, this is Lysander Six, adjust fire, out," responded Rike. The observer sent the coordinates, which Rike relayed to the mortar teams. "Direction 1200, eight hundred meters, base of the canal levee. Lock in coordinates on grid 322-540. Azrael Four, coordinates locked in, out."

"Copy that, L6. Fire when ready, over."

"L6, firing now, out."

The six mortars commenced firing. Fenn swiftly loaded the barrel. Elliah cranked the mortar's adjustment gear, making slight corrections to the shell trajectory. "Fifty-five degrees, deflection three degrees left, high charge!" she shouted. The mortar thumped, lobbing the shell high over the water. It landed in the center of an Ork pack, blasting them with high explosives.

The forward observer voxed again. "L6, this is A4, fire for effect, I say again, fire for effect! Multiple targets inbound." Elliah looked over the dock's edge. Hundreds of Orks were surging across the levee. She and Fenn continued to fire.

Manrey dropped a crate of HE shells next to Elliah. As the Greenskins came into range, the machine gun section opened up, heavy bolters and stubbers firing in steady bursts. Little could be heard over the raging gunfire. A squall came whistling off the lake, bringing snow and rain with it. The ammo runners threw tarps over the crates to protect the shells.

"Fifty-six degrees, deflection three degrees left, high charge," Elliah said. Fenn dropped the HE shell into the barrel. Instead of a solid thump, there was a fizzle, and the mortar shell barely popped out of the barrel. Elliah was already moving. "Short round, short round!" she screamed. She and Fenn threw themselves flat. Manrey came back, alerted by the shouting.

Fenn pointed to the unexploded shell. Manrey nodded, and he approached the dud. "What fuse did you set?" he demanded.

"Delayed fuse," said Fenn. "be careful, Manrey." Manrey gently handled the shell, careful not to jiggle any loose components. Elliah saw the stress on his face, he was barely keeping his nerves as he walked down the pier. When he was far enough away, Manrey tossed the shell into the water and ran back. A pillar of water burst as soon as the shell hit the surface.

Elliah breathed a sigh of relief. Fenneth was stunned. Manrey caught his look and sneered. "What are you looking at? Somebody had to do it, might as well be me."

"Thank you, Manrey," said Elliah, her voice hard. Manrey just grunted and shook his head.

Overhead, the scream of supersonic engines caught the Artemians' attention. Flying low and fast, a Marauder Destroyer was coming in for a strafing run. Six autocannons and two gatling guns tore a path through the Orks, chewing up the road, buildings and abandoned vehicles like they were paper. Rockrete, blood and snow mixed together in the bomber's wake. The mortar section cheered at the sight before setting themselves on the reeling Greenskins.

A wave of aircraft soared overhead, heading in the direction of the Rok. Over the water, a heavy storm was following the squall, turning the horizon pitch black.

* * *

><p>Warboss Smashface had gathered his Nobz in the Rok's hangar. The giant Ork climbed atop a half scrapped fighter bomber, and bellowed at the crowd. "Dis is it, boyz! Dis is da day dat we get our propah WAAAGH! started! Da Mek says its gonna work dis time so long as hez got enuff juice fer da shock-generataz. So grab yer choppa, grab yer shoota, and follow me! Let's get our WAAAGH! on!"<p>

The Orks cheered. Smashface grinned triumphantly as the boyz began to stomp and sing, "Smashface! Smashface! Smashface!" The Warboss raised a hand to quiet the crowd. When that failed, he shouted some more until the Nobz shut up.

"Now, listen up! Dere's no time for drillin' for dis, so quiet down. Any Boy wot wants to get to da fight either comes wif me or finds his own way off dis bleeding Rok! So I don't wanna turn around once I get to land and not see nuffin' following me! You get dat? You fly, you swim, you sail, but you get to land, and you get to stompin' some humies! Otherwise, I'll come back 'ere and stomp ya myself! IS DAT CLEAR?"

The Nobz roared in response. Smashface stomped through the crowd, leading the Nobz to the top of the Rok. Up here, the Imperial attacks had shaken the asteroid's metal skeleton loose, and several rock fragments had broken off. It was highly unstable, and that had been the spark of the Mek's genius plan.

Smashface hauled himself into an egg shaped chamber, strapping himself into the harness on the wall. The room sealed shut with a hiss. He punched the comm system. "Oi, Mek, we're ready to launch. Fire up da fing!"

"Will do, boss," responded the Mek, still deep in the bowels of the ship. The floor shook below the Warboss, and the growl of an enormous engine echoed up through the corridors. Other Orks started strapping themselves into other similar pods. The entire Rok shook, and the wail of the Mek's turbines blocked out every other sound.

"Da rest o' you lot better hold on to sumfin'!" laughed Smashface manically. "'Ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go!"

* * *

><p>Lieutenant Rike's mortar section was now working to root the Orks out of cover and into the machine guns' fields of fire. "Set mortars for airburst!" commanded Rike. "Flush those rats out to the water!"<p>

The Artemian's emergency vox beeped. "All units, brace for storm surge!" The mortar section quickly gathered up their gear. No tarps would keep their ammo dry from a storm surge. They made for the building at the end of the pier. Rike took one last look back at the storm.

Flights of marauders were pulling back from the wall of rain. Lightning bolts shot across the sky, striking the Marauder group's tail, which then arced to each plane in the flight. One by one, the bombers exploded from the intense electrical shocks, falling out of the sky. Rike hurried everyone into the building, closing the door behind him. He peered through the windows, watching the horizon.

The Rok exploded. Only a massive wall of fire remained, growing steadily as countless secondary explosions detonated. An oily black cloud of smoke billowed out of the fortress. Hundreds of tiny fireballs shot out of the haze like a meteor shower, heading for shore. The surviving Marauders banked away, barely avoiding collision with the flaming rocks.

The shower peppered the coast. Guardsmen and Greenskin alike dove for cover as they came hurtling down. The rocks either embedded themselves in the ground or skidded across the surface, leaving a streak of flames in their wake. The freak barrage lasted a matter of seconds, and an uneasy silence followed. Then, all hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>Colonel Nolt was livid. "Will someone tell me what the hell is going on out there?" he shouted. From his headquarter chateau overlooking the lake, the lean colonel watched the battle spiral out of control. The brigade's carefully planned defenses were crumbling rapidly. The 455th was in full retreat, leaving the 31st stranded on the harbor piers. Nolt punched the glass, cracking it. "How the hell did the Orks manage to get off that Rok?"<p>

Nobody had an answer. Orias didn't need one anyways. The Orks were here, dwelling on the how was pointless. Over the water, a fleet of Ork aircraft was chasing the fleeing Navy bombers. And skimming across the water was a wave of chinork helicopters, probably laden with additional troops.

An aide from the vox relay entered the room, carrying a stack of sheets. The man was pale, and he nervously handed the papers to Nolt. "Emergency vox reports, sir, from the ground forces. The new targets are elite Nobs. And there's something else. It's as we feared. The Warboss is leading them."

Nolt wasn't surprised, but he hid his concern. The Orks would flock to their leader like rats to a corpse. They couldn't hold against such an onslaught, Nolt conceded. He had to make a choice.

The Artemians were scattering below. Some of them might even survive, he thought. Nolt could preserve his regiments by ordering a tactical withdrawal. But the colonel had also been granted an opportunity to end the war right now. By killing the Warboss, the Orks would be leaderless, giving the Imperial Guard enough time to organize a decisive counterattack. And all it would cost him was his self respect, and several thousand soldiers.

He made his decision. "Get me a direct channel to the Battleship _Aramatus_. "Request an orbital lance bombardment on Golgotha Harbor. Destroy everything, just make sure the Warboss does not escape."

* * *

><p>Author's note: A shorter chapter this time. I'm experimenting with update length. A short update with a lot of punch to try and balance out some of my longer ones which are more reliant on character and mood.<p> 


	28. Thundering 77s: Survivors and Vengeance

**Survivors and Vengeance**

Colonel Nolt tugged on his lapels as he waited impatiently for the Navy's response. He hated waiting like this at such a critical moment. The Navy was sloppy, only good for ferrying the Guard to planets where the real fighting happened. The vox officer returned to Nolt's office. 'Well?' Nolt asked, straightening up. 'What word from the _Aramatus_?'

'No response, sir, I can't explain it,' said the operator. 'Our relay was sent out, but there was no indication it was received. The astropaths are looking into malfunctions with the relay.'

'Impossible,' snapped Nolt. Covering up his anger, he quickly added, 'Is there any way that you could provide an auspex scan of orbit? Perhaps our communications were disrupted by the storms.'

'We already tried that, sir,' explained the operator. 'We found no sign of the ship or its escort. Meridian's skies are clear. The scan did reveal a residual warp signature similar to the _Aramatus's _profile, but our auspex signal was too weak to get a full reading.'

Orias Nolt burned. A perfect chance to crush the invasion in its infancy, and the Navy was gone. The Artemians were on the run, and the Orks were rampaging across the north bank, and there was nothing Nolt could do to stop them. A golden opportunity wasted by the incompetence of others. 'Order a full retreat,' he said bitterly, 'We're abandoning the harbor.'

The operator protested, 'But sir, with the 455th scattered, the 31st will have no cover.'

'I know that!' Nolt shouted. He turned on the officer, glowering down at him. 'If no order is sent, they will all perish. Give the order, guardsman. Tell them to regroup ten miles inland, and get whatever relief units you can there as soon as possible.'

'Yes sir,' said the officer. Nolt gave him a curt nod, and the man hurried away. The colonel collected his sword and pistol, and took one last look out over the chaos below. Desperate pockets of resistance were swiftly being overwhelmed by the Ork's shock assault. Waves of xenos aircraft were disgorging hundreds more to pursue the routing Imperials. Orias resisted the urge to lash out. He instead buried his frustration with contempt for the greenskins that had outwitted him, and the incompetents that had abandoned him.

* * *

><p>'King's Head!' said Mathis, triumphantly knocking Alek's regent over. 'I win, now pay up. I think you said fifteen thrones, yes?' The corporal held out an expecting hand. Alek cursed under his breath and tossed a handful of coins at Mathis. The heavy wooden door to the parlour creaked open. In walked Kippler, dusting off his uniform and checking his left shoulder.<p>

'I don't know where you found this guy, Soras,' said Alek. He shoved his hands into his pockets, digging for more coins.

'I didn't find him. Take it up with the colonel.'

'Ah, you played fine, Alek,' said Mathis. He flashed a big grin. 'For a beginner, that is.'

'If I'm a beginner, I have no idea what you are,' Alek retorted. 'I'd say I can hold my own against the others, but you just wiped me off the board in fifteen moves. You're not normal, Beryn.'

'Define normal, Alek,' Mathis said.

'Normal' is being able to hold a gun and not break down when the first bullet flies,' said Alek. He raised his right hand, showing off his mechanical fingers. 'Normal is having this happen to you and deal with it the same way you would having a cold. What _you're_ doing is sadistic.'

'It's just a game of regicide.'

Kippler was only half listening to them. He was still distracted by his shoulder. 'Can either of you see if I missed a spot? I don't want any loose strands.' He leaned over the table, showing Alek and Mathis the freshly sewn on chevron.

Mathis ran his hand over the emblem. 'Looks fine to me... Sergeant. Should I start saluting you?'

Kippler looked surprised. 'What? Terra, no. It's a chevron, not a crown. The captain said it's just a formality anyways. A "need to maintain proper organizational structure within the company", he said.'

'Well, congratulations, Soras,' said Mathis. 'You planning on celebrating? Care for a game, perhaps?' Alek silently mouthed 'no', waving his arms theatrically.

'No thanks, Beryn. Lieutenant wanted a headcount, so I was sent to find everyone,' Kippler lit a cigarette, taking a quick drag and tossing the match away. 'Has anyone seen Vornas? I asked Serrt, for all the good that did.'

Beryn shook his head. 'It's going to take some work to get those two to see eye to eye.' Nobody had forgotten Serrt's outburst at the station. It was easy to get on Vornas's bad side, and Donovan Serrt had done it in record time. 'Have you checked over by the station?' he suggested, 'I heard we were getting a resupply for Angel Forge. Apparently they've got something special. Jann and Kalan were going there after they got back from visiting Mol at the hospital.'

Kippler exhaled a puff of smoke. 'I was just heading there next. I know that he's still taking things hard, but Vornas needs to stop wandering off like this.'

Alek stood up. 'I'll come with you, I'm not losing any more thrones to this shark. Coming, Mathis?' Mathis nodded and joined them. The three guardsmen stepped out of the warm gambling parlour and into the snow covered streets, heading for the depot.

Temple Hill dominated the north half of Golgotha, the fortress cathedral's walls rising nearly five hundred feet above the rooftops of the spire's surface layer. The 4th Company's billet lay empty during the day as the off duty guardsmen enjoyed their respite. Only a handful of troops remained inside, catching up on some much needed rest. Nearly three hundred thousand guardsmen held in reserve guarded Temple Hill, and the streets were bustling with troopers from hundreds of regiments.

Kippler lead the way down the hill. The wide paths allowed a commanding view of the surrounding spire. From here, he could see the whole of Luesan Island, the massive Greenskin fortresses jutting out of the ground like jagged mountains. Kippler thought of the rest of the regiment, still down there, battling the greenskins. He spotted the Rok furthest west. The Vendolanders and Cadians would be readying for an assault soon, and for once, the 4th Company wouldn't be at the fore.

Kippler was so used to being on deployment that these small breaks left him uncertain of what to do with his time. It had been nearly ten years since he had first set foot on Meridian, and in that time, he had faced near constant conflict. Whether it was rebels, heretics, tyranids or orks, there was always something threatening the sector capital. It was a small wonder that he hadn't gone insane, he thought. Everyone had their breaking point, and he hadn't reached his yet. But right now, he was trying to keep a friend from reaching his own.

Vornas had shouldered Remer's death with an uncharacteristic silence. The large man had never exactly been talkative, but he now rarely spoke to anyone. If he did, it was often brusque, and prone to anger. Kippler had been wracking his brain thinking of a way to carefully support his friend without setting him off. Who knew what might happen?

The trio found Vornas watching the trains being unloaded from an overpass with a few dozen onlookers. Below, Kippler saw what had caught their attention. They were some of the strangest looking tanks he had ever seen. Where the Leman Russ was tall and blunt, these tanks were short and had wide turrets, each housing a high velocity vanquisher cannon. They were unpainted, their newly constructed hulls polished to a mirror shine, even beneath the bleak skies. A column of red robed techpriests and engineseers marched alongside the tanks, followed by a vast chain of Mechanicus laborers.

'What are they called?' asked Kippler. Vornas didn't turn to greet his squad mates.

'Technically, they're Meridian Pattern Mark 1 Tanks,' explained Vornas humorlessly. 'Meant for popping enemy armor. Everyone here is just calling them Dorns. I guess the Cogboys think a smaller tank will fare better in city streets.'

'I thought that techpriests didn't make new machines,' said Alek.

'They don't,' said Kippler. 'It's probably based on some old blueprint they dug up centuries ago.'

A senior techpriest oversaw the offloading. He was deep in huddled conversation with the station foreman. Kippler found that odd. Barring the engineseers attached to every regiment, techpriests rarely consulted with anyone outside the priesthood, let alone a Munitorum supply officer. He just shrugged it off. How the priests worked was their own business.

Later that evening, most of the company retired to their billet. A couple guardsmen had set up a video projector on one end of the warehouse. Kippler sat on top of one of their chimeras with the rest of the squad, watching the film. It was another Gaunt's Ghosts tale, they were popular among the regiment and the tapes kept circulating through the companies.

Kippler whispered to Vornas. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

"For what?"

"Just a talk, Borik. In private."

Vornas grunted, and slid off the side of the transport. He and Kippler walked over to a secluded corner of the warehouse. Kippler sat on a crate of munitions. "So, how are you doing?"

"What do you want, Soras?" Vornas sighed and shook his head. "You want to start playing therapist all of a sudden? I'm fine."

"No you're not, you look terrible," said Kippler. "I'm not here to make you feel better. I'd be lying if Remer's death didn't hurt me either. But I want to know if this is going to affect your duties. You're still a soldier. But you're also my friend. I don't want to get another man killed because his head wasn't on straight."

"You don't need to worry about me, sergeant," said the grenadier darkly. "I'm not going to die before that bitch does. Nothing would piss her off more."

"The Commissar?"

"Who else?" snapped Vornas, "You were there, you saw what she did. She left Remer to die, she put a frakking gun to my head. No, it's her fault, and she will pay for it. I will kill her before some Greenskin does."

"Keep your voice down," hissed Kippler, anxiously looking to see if anyone heard. "Vornas, what would that solve? You'd be executed. Is that what Remer would want?"

"Who cares what the dead want," lamented Vornas, "Remer is dead. This kill will be for me."

* * *

><p>'So let me get this straight. You think that you cannot die because your friend hasn't died yet? And that every injury he takes just lets you live longer?'<p>

'That's right,' said Remer. 'Alek has been shot, stabbed and had his fingers slashed off, and he's still alive. Therefore, I'm still alive. Last count our squad was at, we were up to ten years or so before we can even think about dying.'

Valeris was rummaging through a container marked with the Imperial aquila. She and the trooper were scavenging supplies from an abandoned depot. Remer had been planning to make the journey back to the surface, once she awoke. With several broken bones between them, they stood more chance moving together than alone. 'Well, have you thought of contacting them, then? Chances are they think you're dead. Here, grenades, how many do you want?' She showed the trooper a handful of explosives.

Remer looked at them. 'Take four each,' he said. He pried the lid off another crate and continued talking. 'Well, I would contact them if I had a way. As it turns out, two tons of rockcrete is a bit more than a vox bead can take. Oh, I tried to find a replacement, but it's hard to get anywhere with half your body bashed up and half a million greenskins wandering around.'

Remer's eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face. 'Aha!' he exclaimed. Digging into the box, Remer pulled out a servo skull. The probe's skull was etched with holy writ and various blessings, and its optics glowed red as Remer flipped the switch. The servo skull levitated off his hand, eyeing them inquisitively. "Useful little buggers. When you don't have Kippler's eyes on hand, these things will do in a pinch."

"You speak highly of your friends," remarked Valeris. After catching his stare, she quickly added, "not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm sure you wish to see them again."

"And you don't want to see your friends, flygirl?"

"Not really," she admitted. The attrition rate of new pilots was horrible. Inexperienced wingmen didn't last long. Friendships were nonexistent when they could be snuffed out in an instant.

"Fair enough," said the trooper with a shrug. He didn't press the subject, which Valeris appreciated.

Valeris finished loading up on supplies. Her mesh webbing was laden with explosives, ammo packs and dry rations. It was much heavier than her flight jacket, and with her leg still in a splint, she balanced unevenly on her good foot. Surprisingly, the flak carapace Remer had found for her was much lighter than she had expected. She was developing a grudging respect for the infantryman's endurance.

Leaving the stockroom, Remer activated the servo skull. The device flew up several hundred feet, disappearing between the maze of interlocking walkways and building foundations. Remer flipped open the hololith receiver rigged to the probe. A hazy picture slowly phased into view, a map of the servo skull's path towards the surface.

Remer traced a zigzagging line along the areas charted by the servo skull. "This looks promising," he said brightly, "It'll be a long trek, but we should be able to make it in a day or two. After that, it's just a question of getting back to command and telling them I'm not dead. Then we'll find a way to get you back to your squadron."

"Then let's go as soon as we're ready," said Valeris. "It stinks down here."

"Hey now, at least you were asleep for a few days. I've been breathing this rot for over a week. Never thought I'd miss the smell of Greenskins." A distant clatter echoed through the undercity. Somewhere far off, something cracked, and the telltale sound of gunfire pinged off of metal. The hololith chart suddenly froze. No more data was being sent from the probe, and an error message appeared on the receiver. Remer stared up into the rafters. "Then again, perhaps I haven't missed it all that much, after all."


	29. Thundering 77s: Heart of the Faithful

**Heart of the Faithful**

Connor hung suspended in the tank's force field. She was stripped of her heavy coat and sash, and wore only a medical gown that dangled just over her feet. Every part of her body was screaming in pain, but she endured it with a grimace. Beyond the tank, the doctor was arguing emphatically with the techpriest Connor had sent for. The priestess approached the tank, and spoke into the vox receiver. "Commissar, we are ready to proceed with the operation."

"I really must protest!" said the doctor, pushing aside the engineseer. He pressed against the tank. "My lady, you need rest and rehabilitation! The shock of cybernetic augmetics at this stage of your recovery could cause permanent paralysis. I implore you, return to your cot and rest. This is not the right way!"

Connor ignored the doctor. She spoke to the engineseer as though she was the only one in the room. "How long will the procedure take, Aros?"

"If the procedure goes as planned, it should take just under four hours. Spinal augmentations require delicate adjustments. As such, I am well suited to this task." From under Aros' robe, four mechadendrite tendrils emerged. The metal fixtures could operate on machinery at a microscopic level. They were the only devices precise enough to perform the complex surgery Connor required.

"This is absurd!" exclaimed the doctor. Connor rolled her eyes and nodded to the techpriest. Aros extended one of her tendrils, wrapping it around the doctor like a snake. Lifting the doctor by his neck, she tossed the man through the swinging doors of the operating room. Two Skitarii guards outside grabbed him and escorted him away, kicking and screaming as he went.

"I am a member of the Officio Medicae! You cannot do this! You are violating the sanctity of this facility!" Before the doctor could say another word, one of the Skitarii rammed the butt of his gun into the man's face, reducing him to pained whimpers. The doors closed behind the guards, leaving Connor alone with the priestess.

"Now we shall have no more interruptions," said Aros. The priestess moved to the stasis tank's console and activated it. "Your body diagnostic is complete, Commissar. We are ready to commence with the operation."

"Then begin, Aros. I have waited long enough. Every hour I have spent in this hospital has been time wasted, and I shall not fail in my task."

Aros entered a code into the console. Small access ports opened in the tank, and she pressed her mechadendrite through the force field suspending Connor. A needle pricked Connor's back, and the commissar felt her body go numb below her neck. "Do you trust me, Commissar?"

Connor didn't hesitate. "More than anyone, Aros."

"Then I will be honest with you. This operation will be painful. The slightest miscalculation could leave you in pain for the rest of your life."

Connor closed her eyes. If that is what it took, then so be it. "I am ready."

* * *

><p>Two days had passed since Flinn and Rast had entered the undercity to look for Gren and the others. When they had come across the spot where the Kommandos had ambushed them, all they had found were greenskin corpses and spent power cells and bullet cases. The scene was a mess: guard rails were twisted and melted, rockcrete was torn up and buildings were charred black by flamer bursts. Poor Marlo's body was strewn over the site. But there were no other human bodies. So, Flinn and Rast continued their search.<p>

Orks were crawling across the Undercity now. Several times, the two guardsmen had almost been discovered, saved only by their stolen gear and the orks' preoccupation with fighting among themselves. The search was slow going. The auspex scans were shoddy at the best of times, and most of what Flinn received came through only half assembled on the screen. Rast had tuned the auspex to their squad's personal vox channel, sweeping the passages for any residual signals.

Flinn took point as they descended further, following the faint traces. He tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering back to the Commissar. Caius must have informed him, Flinn was certain of that. He was worried that the murder would lead back to them. Rast had assured Flinn when they had dumped the body that it wouldn't. They were in a warzone, and three men would not be missed. But the nagging doubt remained in Flinn's mind.

"We'll lay low for a while," Rast had said. "There was talk that the army was going to send purge teams down here to flush out the Orks. When we find the sergeant, we hunker down and wait for our 'rescue'. Caius won't be able to pin anything on us, trust me."

Hours passed by. Above him, from an overlook, Rast called down to Flinn. "I think I see something. Down over the railing, look."

Flinn leaned over the barrier. Below, a narrow bridge crossed over a black chasm. It was barely hanging onto the ledge by a few wires. On the edge, a pile of dead greenskins lay where they fell trying to cross the narrow walkway. "I'll check it out," said Flinn, attaching a rappel line to the rail. "Cover me."

Flinn eased himself over the edge, and slowly descended. Setting foot on the bridge, he inspected the xenos bodies. Heaving one of the brutes over, Flinn noted where lasgun shots had punctured the ork's chest and head. This wasn't some hive ganger kill, the shots had been made by a trained marksmen. He looked across the bridge, where the Orks had been heading. In an alcove beneath the street from which he had just dropped, there was a small passage.

Flinn called the area clear, and Rast roped down beside him. He flipped open the auspex and performed another sensor sweep. This time, rather than the usual static, a clear transmission came through. Rast grinned, shaking the device triumphantly. "We've got something. It's responding to our vox channel."

The two guardsmen checked the auspex's screen. The auspex indicated that vox transponders on their squad's channel had been through the area within the last forty-eight hours. The trace led directly down the passage from the bridge. Flinn felt newfound hope growing in his chest. They at last had a solid lead.

* * *

><p>Crassus and Lester waited outside Colonel Moran's office. The Cadian commander had summoned them for a meeting on short notice. He hadn't said why, but Crassus assumed it had something to do with the growing crisis in the eastern sectors.<p>

The door opened, and Moran's aide ushered them in. Like everything at the truck depot, the office had been quickly converted into a headquarters for the Guard. Piles of boxes filled with the previous owner's affects were stacked in the corner. The Golgotha citizens had left in a hurry.

Moran was like Crassus, he kept very few personal items. A small brass statue was the only noticeable piece among them. The statue was carved in the shape of a woman. She wasn't particularly pretty or well shaped, simply normal. It sat on his desk atop a number of paper maps and charts.

The colonel noticed Ertrand's gaze fall on the statue. Raynis Moran held up the figure, looking at it longingly. "My wife," he said, sadness filling his voice. "I met her during a campaign on Tharuban. Orks had made planetfall and overrun the primary Hives. She was one of the few that made it out."

"What happened to her?" asked Ertrand. "I didn't notice a baggage train when the Xenobane debarked."

"No, you didn't. Cadians are soldiers first, Colonel. We don't have families. Once the infestation had been pacified, we were shipped out. I haven't seen her since."

"How long has it been?"

Moran sat silently, as if lost in thought. "Seven years," he said, finally. He shook his head.

Major Lester stepped forward tentatively. "You did summon us here, Colonel. What did you need?"

"Yes, of course," said Moran. "With the Warboss now engaging our east flank, more resources are being diverted to contain his advance. This in turn is dragging more Orks into the combat. We need to take some pressure off of our allies. We need to strike at the Rok."

"Agreed," said Crassus. They had been shelling the greenskin fortress for days, softening them up for an assault. "We should move as soon as possible. Overwhelm the Rok and then wheel our forces east to secure the island. With the underground sealed off, we need to control the surface."

"How soon can your regiment be ready to move?" asked Moran.

Lester spoke. "I can have the men mobilized by tomorrow, sir. Should I recall our companies off the rotation?"

"No, we go with what we have." Crassus turned back to Moran. "We need to get underway, Colonel. Contact me when you are ready.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said Moran. "I understand this is short notice, and I thank you for your candor. Now, if you please, I need to speak with my officers."

Raynis showed them out and shut the door behind them. "Armand, get on the vox with the PDF artillery. I want that a hole in that Rok you could drive a Baneblade through."

* * *

><p>A murmur of shock traveled throughout the 4th company guardsmen, waiting in line for their rations. At the end of the warehouse, watching the men with an icy glare, stood Commissar Connor. Where she had been struck by the Ork days before, a gruesome layer of scar tissue had formed from the right side of her jaw, running down her neck. She approached the company, moving with slow, deliberate motions. Those close to her could hear a faint mechanical whine as she passed.<p>

Uther stood as she came closer. He didn't try to hide the anger he felt. "Commissar," he said stiffly.

"Captain," responded Connor. "I trust that discipline has not diminished in my brief absence?"

"Not at all. Naturally, given the company's leave from the front, misbehaviour is expected. But the men are well trained. There haven't been any infractions, Commissar."

"See that it remains that way, Captain. Ill discipline at the front can be dealt with swiftly. Dissent in the rear will lead to our downfall. General Derim stepped down this morning for his failure to contain the Xenos. I will not have morale collapse at such a critical juncture."

"Understood perfectly, Commissar," said Uther with a hint of sarcasm. "If I may ask, who is to lead the army in our disgraced general's absence?"

"The Commissariat has informed me that General Dagor Lessek of the 12th Maveron Lance Division has been elected. The Maverons may not be the most experienced soldiers, but at present, they have the largest number of regiments deployed to Golgotha, and their officers carry significant weight in the decision making. According to the Commissariat, it did not take much to sway opinions to their favor."

Uther lowered his voice. "And how about yourself, Connor?" he asked. "Are you feeling well?"

Connor straightened up and huffed. "I am fine, Captain Uther. The procedure was successful, and I am fit for active duty."

"You know I'm only concerned for your wellbeing, Connor. Are you sure about this?"

"I am, Captain," Connor said. She nodded to the guardsmen. "Carry on."

Coat billowing behind her, the Commissar turned and strode towards the exit. The company, which had watched the brief exchange in tense silence, resumed their routine. It was a poorly kept secret of the captain's relationship with the commissar, and the recent distance between the two had been a point of conversation among the men.

Vornas watched her go, stone faced when she glanced his way. He had been sitting by himself among the rest of the company. He didn't talk to anyone, and nobody dared to brush him off as he ate. After Connor left the building, he waited for a minute before getting up himself.

A man looking like he knew where he was going attracted little attention, Remer had told him, once. Not that Vornas received much attention anyways. His scarred face and bad moods more often scared people away than attracted them.

He followed Connor at a distance. The commissar was heading for the train station. More supplies from Angel Forge arrived daily, including hundreds of those new Rogal Dorn tanks. They were being driven directly from the station to the frontline, as the Guard desperately tried to hold back the Ork assault along the shore.

Ahead, the path split, one side heading down to the rail lines, while the other passed over the station. Connor took the lower path, and Vornas took the upper, walking until he had a full view of the station. He followed the commissar's movements from above while she moved among the loading crews.

From the main building, a red mechanicus priest emerged and ushered Commissar Connor inside. Vornas had noticed more and more of them recently. Most kept to the station, overseeing their supply drops, but every now and then, he found techpriests wandering through the streets. They always traveled in groups of two or more, and always with a detail of cogboy troopers.

"What are you doing, Vornas?"

Vornas spun around at the voice. Soras stood with his arms crossed and a hard look on his face. The sergeant approached him. "You didn't think I missed you leaving, did you?"

"What do you think she's doing?" Vornas wondered aloud. "She comes back from a coma with gears sticking out of her goddamn spine, and now she's cozying up to the cogboys."

"Does it matter? You're not going to kill her."

"I didn't ask your opinion, Soras," spat Vornas.

"And I didn't give it," Kippler said forcefully. "I don't want you wandering off anymore. You stay away from the commissar and you pull yourself together. Is that clear?"

Vornas didn't answer. Soras repeated himself. "Is that clear, private?"

Vornas still didn't respond. He just walked away, ignoring Kippler's protests. He knew what Kippler would do next. The sniper wasn't as opaque as he thought he was. Vornas just had to get there first. Connor would die.

* * *

><p>"Here, Flinn, I've got a live one!" called Rast.<p>

Flinn sloshed through knee deep water. A waterline had broken and flooded the monorail tube. The trail had led them through a veritable warren of passages before opening up into the transit tubes. But they were getting closer.

Flinn rounded the corner and saw Rast holding a small creature by the throat. Rast slammed the gretchin into the wall and punched its distended belly so hard that it coughed up blood. Numerous greenskins of all sizes lay floating in the pungent sluice; red blood mixed with the grey water now pooling in Flinn's boots.

Something in Flinn snapped when he saw the gretchin. He remembered the Ork that had pursued him out of the undercity days before. The same hatred that had overwhelmed him then suddenly returned. Unsheathing his knife, Flinn pressed the blade deep into the gretchin's chest.

"Now, you listen to me you little freak. You better talk fast, or this knife is going to cut a little deeper, and I know how much a greenskin can bleed before they die. You are going to answer our questions."

"Please," gasped the gretchin, "I dun' know nuffin, I just carry da boyz dakka, I swearz!" Rast threw another fist into the creature's gut, knocking the wind out of it.

"Who did this to you, for starters?" demanded Flinn. He twisted the knife in a little further. The little wretch squealed. "Talk!"

"It was you humies, wasn't it? We was chasin' your runts fer a good fight, an' den half da boyz was shot dead! What more do ya want from me, I just run da dakka!"

"Not good enough, freak. What did they look like? Were they wearing green armor like us?"

The little xenos was turning from green to purple while Rast held him by the throat. "Dey was green, I swearz." It held a trembling arm up and pointed down the tube. "Dey was screamin' about gettin' to da center o' da tunnelz, or sumfin'. Where all da trains wot run in deez tubes come from."

"Monorail transfer station," said Rast. "We should go, some of the trains might still be running, or they might be there. Come on, Flinn." Rast loosened his grip on the gretchin's neck.

Flinn didn't move. He still had the runt pinned to the wall with his knife. "Flinn?" Rast snapped his fingers. "Come on, let's go. He'll bleed out anyways, stop wasting time."

"No." Flinn leaned in, almost bumping his head on the creature's long nose. "You know what I hate most about you greenskins? It's that you never take anything seriously. It's all a game to you, all this killing and fighting. But it isn't so fun when you lose, is it?"

The gretchin's eyes widened with fear. "Well, we humans aren't like you. We don't have fun killing if we can help it. Except, I'm not feeling very human right now," Flinn pulled the knife out of the gretchin's belly, "so, I'm going to enjoy this."

Despite the xenos's screams, Flinn pressed the knife's edge against its throat, and began sawing. Blood spewed everywhere as he slashed the jugular veins. The gretchin's eyes bulged and it coughed up mouthfuls of blood. But it was still alive. Good, it can suffer longer, thought Flinn.

He didn't bother to cut the head cleanly off. Washing his knife off in the water, Flinn stood up and left the still dying greenskin with its neck half severed, still alive for a few more agonizing seconds.

Rast stepped back from Flinn. The younger trooper looked at him with disgust. "It's a xenos, it doesn't deserve better. They kill us a hundred ways and worse. I figure it was time we got our own back. Let's find Gren and get the hell out of here."


	30. Thundering 77s: The Hunger of Doubt

**The Hunger of Doubt**

Uther and his officers were overseeing the 4th Company as they performed marching drills outside their barracks. Their leave was winding down, and he wanted them sharp for their return to the front. The new recruits drawn up from the reserve battalion had to be ready. They needed to trust their NCOs.

The captain spun around when he heard someone call his name. A man clad in the black uniform of the Adeptus Arbites was running towards him. The man was a wiry fellow, with a scrunched up face and a nose broken so many times it lay sideways across his cheekbones. He silently offered his hand, which Uther shook.

"Captain Altis," said the man, introducing himself. "I need to speak with you privately, sir."

"About what?" asked Uther.

Altis quickly glanced at the lieutenants. "I'd rather not say in the open, Captain. It's a sensitive matter."

Uther nodded. "I understand. Jorin, take over until I get back." The lieutenant saluted, and Uther and the arbiter hurried inside. Uther ushered him into his small office and closed the door behind them. Altis brushed the snow off his coat, and straightened up. Uther offered him a seat, which he refused. "So, what is the meaning of this visit, captain?"

"I have urgent news regarding two of your men, Uther."

Uther leaned forward eagerly. "You've word of my sergeants, then? I had signed their release for Captain Talros's interview weeks ago. What the hell happened to them?

"We lost contact with Talros several days ago," said Altis. "We have no trail to follow."

What? Uther shook his head. "How could you have lost him? He is one of your officers, is he not? Surely you have some leads?"

"Unfortunately, no. It seems that officer Talros purged his records before his departure." Altis said. "The Arbites Command only authorized his questioning of your men, but it appears that he has gone rogue, and taken sergeants Merrick and Hurst with him. We received an anonymous tip a few days later, indicating that Talros had actually forged his credentials. He was very thorough, our best code breakers took a long time to break his encryptions. Talros is an imposter."

Uther rose from his chair, fists pressed against the table. "So you're telling me, that I signed the release of two of my best NCOs into the hands of a criminal? Why is this information only reaching me now?"

Altis was unfazed by Uther's growing anger. "The Arbites Precinct has had its hands full policing Golgotha's refugees, captain. A message was sent four days ago, but after you failed to respond, command ordered a runner sent. Vox communications are hell right now."

"Tell me about it," said Uther with a sigh. "These winter storms play havoc with our vox lines. Even the new wires we set are having issues. What I would give for just one clear day."

Altis frowned, "Come to Capitol Spire if you like, it's sunny as ever. It would be nice if it weren't for this bastard of a cold snap."

"But you've still had problems with your vox lines?" asked Uther, curious.

"It's not just here, Uther. It's planet wide. Nothing has been getting through."

Lars was shocked. He silently stared at Altis, the short man's face turning from confusion to realization. They were both thinking the same thing. Someone was intentionally jamming their communications.

* * *

><p>This is suicide, thought Merrick. Ahead of him in the chain, Hurst shuffled along, matching the slow gait of the other laborers. The chain moved along the wide platform, awaiting the railcar that would take them to the heart of Angel Forge. So far, everything was going according to Corsis's plan.<p>

A large box shaped device was stuck to the side of Merrick's head, just like the rest of the servitors. However, his and Hurst's devices were only partially active. They were rudimentary mind impulse units, allowing a techpriest to influence and control his workers to a degree via mental orders. The servitors, being little more than a flesh medium for their circuits, only received orders, carrying them out without hesitation.

The Logis had tinkered with Merrick and Hurst's MIUs to allow them to resist a techpriest's demands. They would broadcast a signal indicating the order was received, allowing the pair to move undetected as they searched for the evidence they needed. The MIUs also allowed Merrick and Hurst to communicate mentally, helping to maintain their disguise as 'servitors'. It also gave them a direct line to the Logis, who could guide them from his lair.

Corsis had been thorough in his planning. He could not access the heart of the forge without attracting undue attention, but through his technology, he could use the guardsmen as mobile cameras to see exactly what he needed.

It hadn't been easy for Merrick, at first. True, he had received minor bionic implants in the past, mostly for stamina and eyesight enhancements, but the MIU had been exceptionally difficult to adapt to. Hearing Corsis's cold, piercing voice within his mind had shaken him. The days of planning and studying the forge's layouts had been doubly difficult, as he then had to corroborate the information with Hurst's own mind. But, after a time, he had grown somewhat used to it. He had stopped vomiting, at least.

"When you reach the core station, you must follow the chain to the utmost. Security is extremely high and any irregularity will be purged without question," Corsis explained."This servitor chain is scheduled to operate one of the databanks surrounding the core and the Forgemaster. Normally, this would be a permanent station, but once you have downloaded the data, I will operate via proxy and create an incident that will unlock you."

"What do you mean by 'permanent station'?" asked Hurst. "What do the servitors in these chains do to operate the databank?"

"The Forgemaster is an ancient magos, sergeant," said Corsis. "He needs to be maintained as long as the forge must run, so servitors are hooked up to the databanks to reduce the physical stress taken upon the Forgemaster's biological parts. The process usually dries the servitors into husks in a day or so. Luckily, Meridian has an ample supply of displaced residents who will not be missed."

"Leave it to the Mechanicus to find new ways of recycling," voiced Merrick. He wouldn't have noticed a missing person on a planet of billions, but knowing what their fate was sickened him. After this, he hoped never to deal with the Mechanicus again outside of the Vendoland's engineseer liaison.

The railcar came to a halt, and the servitors were ferried onto the platform. Without moving his head, Merrick took note of the area. This was by far the largest chamber in the forge, stretching hundreds of meters into darkness, supported by gargantuan pillars. A large round structure sat in the center of the room, with small blisters jutting out of the sides. The data core sank another hundred meters into the floor, and long, shallow steps went all the way down to the bottom.

"That is the heart of the forge, sergeant major," said Corsis. "The Forgemaster will be in there. You are very close now."

The servitor chain was taken aboard a hoversled, which flew them towards the top of the Forgemaster's chamber, where it landed on one of the blisters. The blister opened to reveal a cramped room dominated by a cogitator that took up the entire back wall. Out of the room, another techpriest pulled a chain of desiccated bodies; the last servitor crew. The two priests nodded to each other as they passed and the new servitors were moved into place.

Merrick stared blankly at the screen in front of him. Streams of code ran down the display, and he hadn't a clue what any of it meant. In his mind, Corsis sent him instructions, telling him which buttons to press and where to begin mining for data. "You will only have a few minutes, Merrick," the Logis had said. "Once you access the data, our window will begin to close. You must retrieve all you can before I initiate the distraction."

He continued to shift through the files. Merrick found himself searching through a blueprint archive. Several firewalls initially prevented access, but quick alterations on Corsis's part finally left Merrick with full access to the Forge's production schematics. The Meridian Pattern Mark 1, or Rogal Dorn tank, appeared before him.

Corsis was overjoyed. "Ah, the wonders of technology and flesh combined. Through your eyes, I see all I need, and no download to be traced. Your eyes are the perfect copy makers, sergeant major. Continue your search. We are nearly complete."

Merrick followed Corsis's orders, but he had something else on his mind. Hurst knew it as well. The proof of a Magos' treachery was their main goal, but Merrick had to be sure. He typed Elle Connor into the search engine. They needed to know the truth.

The search took several seconds, far longer than the near instantaneous results beforehand. Whoever had hidden this information had hidden it deep, and it was only due to Corsis's intimate knowledge of the Forge's security algorithms that Merrick had made it this far.

A series of audio files came up. Merrick opened the first one.

He heard the Commissar's voice. "Commissar Elle Connor, 85th Vendoland. Who is this, and how did you reach my private terminal?"

"I am Priestess Aros, engineseer of the Adeptus Mechanicus. I have been ordered to contact you on behalf of Magos Dolthem, our leader on Meridian."

"And what does the Magos want with me? Does he plan on firing more missiles and he wishes to ask my permission again?"

"No," said Aros. "He wishes to offer you an opportunity. Your actions surrounding the destruction of Spire Legis have piqued his interest in you."

"In what way?" responded Conner, her voice unusually cautious.

"Dolthem believes that you are a potential ally. Your position requires you to place the good of the Imperium above all else, does it not? The Imperial Guard is a bloated mess of incompetence and poor management. Meridian will fall from human folly if they are allowed to continue on this path of self destruction. But the Mechanicum is different.

"We are not governed by petty emotions, but by cold, rational, logic. It is only through the Mechanicus's efforts to reactivate Angel Forge that the Imperium shall hold Meridian. Only by our strength, and efficiency."

"And how would I factor into this?" asked Connor.

Aros's voice took on a patronizing tone. "Like I said, it is because of your willingness to put the Imperium first that you are of interest to us. The Mechanicus cannot operate freely on this world with the opposition of the Imperial Guard. You could... inform us."

"You want me to spy on the Guard."

"Only as a precaution," insisted Aros. "We tend to avoid outside help when we can, but you represented an opportunity for us."

"And if I refuse?" said Connor. "This talk is treasonous, you realize."

"If you refuse, then nothing will come of this meeting. These records will be expunged at the end of our conversation. You will have no evidence to provide. Think about it, Commssar. I will be in touch." The recording ended.

Evidently not as deleted as they'd like Connor to believe, thought Merrick. Connor almost sounded like she was considering the offer. Hastily, he collected every other recording that made note of the commissar, uploading the information to his MIU.

"I've got the evidence for Corsis," said Hurst. He sounded weary; he'd heard the recording as well. He asked Corsis, "Did you know anything about this, Logis?"

Corsis spoke. "Only that she was working with Dolthem's agents. That alone is enough to incriminate her in this. But what her intent is, I do not know." The priest sighed. "This talk tires me, you have the data we require. If you are ready, I will cause the distraction now."

* * *

><p>In an instant, an emergency klaxon started wailing, and the cogitator bank's lights turned red. The priest overseeing Merrick and Hurst worked quickly to unchain the servitors from the cogitator. Corsis had explained that emergency procedure involved removal of all recent installations, in case a virus had been uploaded during hookup. They would be taken for individual screenings. That was when Merrick and Hurst had to make their move.<p>

The hoversled was already waiting for them when the doors opened. Merrick carefully glanced around. The entire core was in motion, techpriests frantically working to isolate whatever Corsis had introduced into their systems through the two guardsmen.

"Won't the priest alert the others?" said Merrick. "If you're all linked on some level, the moment we hit this guy, it will bring the whole priesthood down on us."

"Not if I can isolate the individual, sergeant," said Corsis. "I know every priest and every unit in this facility. Be my eyes and trust me. You haven't much time."

The hoversled lifted off and sped towards the screening station. Merrick tested his chains. They were heavy, but not so heavy as to be a burden. The chains were meant to keep the mindless servitors from wandering off, not for preventing two trained soldiers from moving swiftly or violently. He began coiling a handful of the chain around his arm. He hoped Hurst picked up on what he was doing. Merrick began to move.

Slowly at first, with a line of chain gathered in his hands, he crept up the side of the servitor chain as far as his collar would allow. The techpriest had his back to him. Merrick struck quickly. Swinging the chain like a whip, he threw the line around the priest and pulled hard.

The priest was dragged off his feet, arms and tendrils flailing. Merrick leapt on him before he could recover, wrapping the coil of chain around the priest's neck. He kept punching the priest repeatedly until his knuckles were bloodied and bare, squeezing the chain with his other hand.

At the same time, Hurst had gone around the other side of the servitor chain. He shoved the servitor at the head of the group, knocking him down. This brought down the rest of the chain like dominos, covering Merrick and the priest. Hurst fell on top of the writhing pile, struggling to pull himself free.

Merrick, still wrestling with the techpriest, tried to reach inside his adversary's robe. A mechadendrite tendril twisted Merrick's arm away from the priest's laspistol, and flailed wildly while the sergeant continued to strangle the man. Crawling over top, Hurst threw his weight into the fight, jamming his fingers into the priest's optical cluster and prying out the circuitry.

Blind, the techpriest screamed, and Hurst grabbed a hold of his mouth with both hands, prying his jaw apart with a sickening snap. Merrick gave a mighty pull on the chain around his neck, and the last gasps of air left the man's lungs. The tendrils flopped to the floor, lifeless as their master.

"Grab the gun, quick!" ordered Merrick. Hurst snapped up the priest's pistol and shot off their restraints. Then, he marched towards the cockpit and swiftly put two shots through the servitor pilot's cranium. The sergeant pulled the broken body out of the chair and took the controls.

"Corsis, what's the quickest way out of here?" said Merrick. He was relieved to be able to speak normally again.

"Through the loading bay elevators, sergeants. I would hurry, though. I may have kept the priest from warning his cohorts, but your little escape attempt assuredly did not go unnoticed."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Merrick. He called up to the cockpit, "Did you hear that, Hurst? Go faster."

* * *

><p>The door rang. Corsis turned his view to his office's external monitor. A battalion of Skitarii were waiting in the hallway. The Magos was with them. Smiling, Corsis activated the intercom.<p>

"Seven minutes, Dolthem?" he said chidingly. "You are getting slower, Magos. There was a time when you could detect a virus's source in half that time."

"Logis, you realize that what you have done is treason," hissed Dolthem. "You have turned your back on this priesthood and everything it stands for!"

"Do not speak to me of treason, Dolthem," snapped Corsis. "With this information, I will expose your treachery to the Imperium. The Engineseers will see your circuits for such a betrayal. The crime of invention condemns you."

"The crime of invention?" Dolthem raised his arms theatrically. "Why should invention be so heretical in the Imperium's eyes? We have sat stagnant for ten thousand years! What we do not lose, we condemn, and ever more we regress technologically. I intend to change that, and yet still there are those who resist my vision for the future!"

"Do not try to hide your excuses!" shouted Corsis. "This is not some matter of improving the quality of life. It is your cavorting with the Ruinous Powers that mark your treachery! A true servant of the Imperium would never fall so low, but you have taken it upon yourself, and doomed this priesthood because of your folly."

"The only doomed person here is yourself, Logis," said Dolthem. The Magos began to laugh, a harsh, raspy metallic sound. "They follow me willingly. And those that do not shall meet the same fate as yourself.

"No friend is going to come and save you, Logis. Not while the Imperials are embroiled in their pathetic spat with the Orks. Not while they wander blindly through blizzards and broken communications."

On the monitor, Dolthem turned to his Skitarii. "Break this door down!"

Corsis reclined in his seat, tapping his armrest. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. The Logis dipped his hand below the armrest, and pressed a button, hidden on the underside.

* * *

><p>Outside the office, teams of Skitarii were planting shaped charges on the doorframe to Corsis's office. Dolthem watched them impatiently. "Hurry up, hurry up!" he growled.<p>

Corsis had to die, he knew too much. The priesthood had to act quickly, before the Logis could send off the information to the Administratum, bringing the whole fury of the Imperium down upon Angel Forge. There wasn't much time.

The Magos heard a slight noise, just on the edge of his enhanced aural sensors. It was a frequency. Dolthem analyzed the sound. A frequency to a silent alarm. His optics cluster lit up, and he began backing away from the door.

The wall panels to either side of the doorframe retracted, revealing six sets of heavy bolter barrels. The automatic security turrets opened fire, devastating the front row of Skitarii troops. Dolthem fled, explosive tipped rounds nipping at his red robes. He dived inside the nearest open door, throwing himself flat to the deck.

The Skitarii battalion was taken by surprise. Dozens more were cut down in the next few seconds. The rest started to fall back, around corners and away from the machine guns. In retaliation, the tech guard lobbed grenades around the corner, hoping to take out the guns.

Suddenly, a torrent of autogun fire ripped into Dolthem's troops from the adjoining corridors. More Skitarii soldiers appeared to pin down the Magos's men. The traitor's forces were pinned down.

* * *

><p>Inside the Logis's chambers, Corsis started to laugh.<p>

* * *

><p>Dolthem huddled inside the service closet. Ignoring the battle raging in the hallway between his and the Logis's forces, the Magos silently sent his own commands. Two could play at this game. Corsis had his own forces, but they were nothing compared to the fury that the Magos of Angel Forge could command.<p>

He activated the Praetorians. Corsis would either relent, or they would tear the door from his moorings.


	31. Thundering 77s: Allegiance

**Allegiance**

Shots rang out above Remer and Valeris, and he swiftly brought his lasgun up to his shoulder. Valeris watched him and tried to follow his movements. She had no idea where the shots were coming from, everything echoed and bounced down here. But the guardsman ahead of her seemed had a supernatural sense of direction. In truth, he was just acting on instinct.

Remer bit his tongue, holding off the pain in his legs and chest. After years of combat, it was natural to him to react to gunfire by getting low and scanning the area. His body didn't agree with him, but he pushed on anyways. He needed to if the two of them were to get out of there alive.

Remer felt the walkway beneath him rattle, above them the sound of several explosions going off. He signaled for Valeris to stop. "Wait here, I'm going to check it out."

The pilot nodded, and Remer continued forward, cautiously. The walkway clung to the side of one of the Spire's support domes. To his left was the massive, curved structure, stretching towards the city's surface crust. To his right, a dark chasm opened, intercut with further passages and rail tubes to the other support domes. The fighting was nearby, somewhere above them.

Ahead, a rusted strut for one of the overhead bridges jutted out from the dome. A steel ladder was welded to the side. Remer looked up, and saw that the strut ran beyond just the bridge, reaching up towards the surface marked at each level by a blinking light. It seemed the ladder went the whole way, the lights fading into the gloom, far above them. He beckoned to Valeris to join him.

"Can you climb?" he asked, looking her over. She was still pretty beaten up, and the forced march wasn't helping any.

"I think so," said Valeris. She tested her legs by climbing a few rungs of the ladder. They burned fiercely, but she took the pain in stride. "Yeah, yeah, I think I can do it."

"Okay," said Remer. He slung his lasgun over his shoulder and grabbed the ladder. "I'll go first. Better I get my head shot off than you. If I see anything, I'll shoot."

"What about the shooters?" she asked.

Remer shrugged. "Well, we'll try to avoid the fight if we can, but there's always a chance. Just follow my lead."

* * *

><p>Uther weaved his jeep through traffic, barely keeping it from sliding across the slush filled roads. He had to get to Colonel Crassus with the arbiter's information. Command staff would know how to handle things better than him.<p>

A communications jammer! Who had a device powerful enough to disrupt vox relays across an entire planet, especially one as developed as Meridian? The thought made him shudder. It certainly put the winter storm theory to rest. Someone was at work undermining the Guard.

The jeep passed by a convoy of supply trucks crossing the Luesand Canal. The Vendolanders and the Cadian Xenobane were preparing for tomorrow's assault, and they needed every shell, bullet and grenade they could gather. Attacking an Ork Rok was no easy task. Past burnt out husks of hab blocks, Uther saw the black ziggurat jutting into the skyline.

The captain drove onward, into the active combat zone. He honked the jeep's horn to ward off the troops wandering the streets. Many of them looked wounded and tired. There was the constant wail of shell fall from both the imperial and xenos guns. The once heavy layer of snow had swiftly melted and turned to sludge. A leman russ with a dozer blade was scraping the roadways clear.

The sector's command leviathan was nestled in a massive loading dock. It was heavily guarded, flanked by two tank platoons from the Xenobane watching the entrance. Above, sharpshooters and mortar teams dotted the building's rooftop. Uther showed his officer's pass to the Dyneemek soldier on watch, and the trooper ushered him inside.

The bay was sunken into the ground to better accommodate large vehicles. A warm draft washed over Uther as he drove down the ramp. The air was tinged with the smell of motor oil, and leery yellow caution lights dotted the walls.

Sitting next to the Leviathan were the Cadians' prized Baneblade tanks. Compared to the command vehicle, even these mammoth war machines seemed tiny. A small army of techpriest engineseers were overseeing the maintenance and resupply of the battle tanks, aided by dozens of the Xenobane's own mechanics.

Commander McTavish looked down from _Kasr's Pride's_ command cupola to the small jeep that pulled up beside them. He grinned when he saw who was driving. "Well now, if it isn't the Vendoland's own little Castellan Creed? Nice to see that a few days off the front haven't softened you up too much, Captain."

"Good to see you too, commander," said Uther hastily. He looked up to the Leviathan. "Is the staff inside?"

"Should be," said McTavish with a shrug. "They haven't gone very far the past couple days, I don't see why they'd change that. Are you in a hurry or something? You look anxious."

"Do I?" Uther hadn't even noticed. He had been so caught up in his revelation, he was fidgeting. "Perhaps I am. A bit."

The tank commander laughed and scratched his beard. "Well, keep it together if you're joining us tomorrow. We're going to blow that greenskin hive back to the stars."

"Do you think we're up to it?" asked Uther. He was unsure himself, and he could use a vote of confidence.

McTavish leaned back and patted the tank's huge turret. "With this baby, we're up for anything. Hope to see you out there, captain. I hate to take help from others, but I wouldn't mind seeing you and your men in action again."

"I'll try not to disappoint you then," Uther nodded to the Cadian before walking to the Leviathan's boarding ramp.

* * *

><p>Crassus was busy briefing Major Lester for the following day's assault when captain Uther burst into the CIC. The colonel ignored this rather rude entrance, and finished his conversation with Armand, making the captain wait impatiently in the corner of the room. Finally, Lester nodded and left, and only then did Crassus address the harried Uther.<p>

"What do you need. Captain? Your company isn't due back until tomorrow."

Uther spoke hurriedly, "Sir, I think I know what is wrong with our communications, why we have had so much trouble making contact with the other regiments."

"Oh?" Crassus was interested. "What have you discovered, Lars?"

Uther set his helmet down on the console. "Colonel, I just received a message from an Arbites officer this morning. He told me that the vox relays are malfunctioning planetwide, not just here under the storm. We're being jammed by someone."

Crassus hadn't considered this, but he mulled it over. It certainly was plausible. He asked, "Do you think that the cultists in Urizen are behind this, Captain? They certainly stand to gain."

"No doubt, sir. But I don't think this is their doing. The Hounds of Vandis only disrupt our operations immediately before an attack, so they can use the element of surprise, and we haven't heard of any movement from the south. It's also not the greenskin's style to use subterfuge."

Crassus frowned. "So, who is behind this sabotage, Captain?"

Uther sighed, and looked overwhelmed. "I fear that it might have something to do with my missing sergeants, sir. I would have never signed their release for that damn police investigation if I'd known that the officer had gone rogue."

"How are they involved in this, Captain?" Crassus chose not to reprimand Uther for his bad judgement call. Nobody could have known, and the colonel had seen the release form himself. He was just as guilty.

"I don't know exactly, sir. I just have this feeling."

There was more to it than that. Lars Uther was an excellent tactician, but Crassus could see that the man was under immense stress. Even under Uther's exterior, Crassus could see the cracks in his composure. He decided to address it now, while he had the chance. "Look, Captain, I need you ready for tomorrow. If there's something you'd like to get off your chest, do it now." Crassus pressed a button, deactivating the recording devices in the CIC. "Off the record, what's troubling you, really?"

Uther collapsed into a chair and let out a long sigh of frustration. "My company is falling apart, sir. I've lost my two best NCOs, and several other good men. I feel like the heart of 4th is eroding without them. The men are bitter and tired, and they aren't getting along well with the replacements from the consolidation. And my commissar, I feel, has lost faith in my ability to command."

"Commissar Connor," Crassus said. He'd gathered as much. The young, beautiful political officer always seemed to be at the heart of any discussion about Uther.

"Yes, sir. Since we arrived in Golgotha, she has been critical of my decisions, no matter how simple they might be. We've always worked well together until now. She has alienated herself from the men, and I worry that this will just drive more of a wedge between us."

"Between 'us', Captain?" probed Crassus, eyebrow cocked, "Do you refer to yourself, or to the company?"

Uther answered quickly. Too quickly to be honest. "Between the company, sir. I don't want arguments on the command level to divide the men's loyalties."

Or your own loyalties, thought Crassus. "Would it be better if she was serving with another company? I can discuss the matter with Commissar Lord Gardus, he could arrange a transfer."

"I think that would be best, sir," said Uther. Oh, you sad, sad man. "At least until the end of the campaign. I don't want feelings to get in the way of efficiency."

An aide walked by with a tray of coffee. Crassus took two and offered one to Uther. "Well, I will take it up with the Gardus, Lars. But it will take a few days. Can you put aside your personal issues for the time being? The control of this sector is more important than any of us; it could be the deciding factor in beating the greenskins."

Uther nodded slowly. "Yes sir, I understand. I won't let you down."

Crassus grinned, taking a large gulp from his steaming cup. "Of that, I'm sure." He slapped the captain's shoulder reassuringly. "Get back to your company, Captain. Get them ready."

Lars Uther saluted and excused himself from the Colonel's presence. Crassus shook his head. Uther was roughly the same age as him, and here he was, hung up on a Commissar, like some junior cadet. Crassus had heard the rumors, the worst kept secret in the regiment, but he'd kept quiet out of respect for the captain's ability. But if Uther's feelings got in the way of his duty, the colonel would not hesitate to put an end to their tryst.

* * *

><p>"Merrick?" called Hurst. "We, have a problem."<p>

The hoversled was speeding away through the forge, as fast as Hurst could go. They were nearing the loading bay elevators. Merrick could see daylight filtering down into the forge's smog choked production lines. They were nearly out.

"What sort of problem?" he asked, peering through the cockpit canopy. Nobody had followed them, and the alarm klaxons had ceased.

"The shield is still up," said Hurst plainly.

"What shield?"

"The one surrounding the Forge, remember?" Wadden replied. "That void shield is rated to deflect orbital bombardments. This sled wouldn't make a scratch if we tried to run it."

Damn it, thought Merrick. "Just get us outside, Hurst. I'll try to get a hold of Corsis."

They had lost contact with the Logis. Merrick had to pull off the MIU to keep the static out of his head. He wasn't looking forward to putting it back on, but Corsis hadn't failed them yet, and they'd held up their end of the bargain. As far as Merrick was concerned, the priest owed them.

"Come on, you bastard," Merrick cursed, reattaching the MIU chip. Immediately, he was assaulted by the unrelenting static. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the noise aside and focused on imparting his message. "Corsis, if you can hear me, we're going to make a run for it. You've got your data, and we've got ours. Time to live up to your promise. Drop the shields and let us out!"

There was no response. Merrick waited impatiently, but nothing came. Frustrated, he kicked the side of the sled. Damn that priest!

The hoversled zoomed over the loading elevator. Beneath them, hundreds of Rogal Dorn tanks and other armored vehicles were being raised to the surface. The daylight glinted off their freshly printed armor plating, making them look like shining beetle shells. Hurst aimed for the opening, and for the first time in days, Merrick felt sunlight on his skin.

The sled rose above the manufactorum, flying between parallel lines of smokestacks belching black exhaust into the air. The faint red shimmer of the void shield was visible, flickering where stray objects struck and were incinerated.

Merrick dropped back into the co-pilot's seat. "I can't get through to the Logis, Hurst. Do you have any ideas?"

"Not a one. Maybe there's a way we could... wait," Hurst suddenly lit up. "Merrick, the shield is lowering! It's a straight shot for us."

"Well, take it, then!" shouted Merrick. "Put as much distance between us and the Forge as you can. Heh, the cogboy came through."

Hurst aimed for the opening in the void shield, visible by the snow flurries blowing through the narrow breach. A moment after the sled swept through the shield, the opening snapped shut, once again blocking out the harsh winter weather.

* * *

><p>Corsis's bloody hand slipped from the shield control panel and fell limply to the floor. His artificial lungs were failing him, betrayed by the remaining organic components of his body. There were a dozen holes in his chest cavity, ripped open by a flurry of shots as the praetorians had broke down his chamber's door. The Logis coughed up a mixture of blood and oil, dribbling down his taut face.<p>

Magos Dolthem stepped over the ruined bodies of Corsis's bodyguards, over to where the priest lay, gasping his dying breaths. He bent down and grabbed Corsis by the chin, forcing him to look the Magos in the face. "One man alone cannot withstand the might of this Forge, Corsis. I tried to tell you that, but it seems you have developed a fault in your memory banks."

Dolthem slid his hands down around the Logis's throat, lifting him into the air before slamming him into the monitor bank. Screens shattered and sparking wires shorted out the entire wall. "The data you stole from me will be retrieved, Corsis, even if I have to pry it from your skull, wire by wire."

The old Logis smiled weakly as he coughed up more blood. "There will always be others, Dolthem. The Priesthood of Mars will never abide a heretek such as yourself."

Dolthem leaned over Corsis, "There are none left here to defy me, Corsis. I have ordered the Engineseers be executed. Your little rebellion dies here."

In spite of his fatal injuries, Corsis began to laugh. It was a horrible, raspy sound, a mixture of gargled blood and oil with the priest's audio filtered augmetic voice box. Corsis weakly wrapped his bony hands around Dolthem's wrist in one last act of feeble defiance. "If that is what you want to think, Dolthem, then by all means, continue to delude yourself."

What? What did he mean by that? Dolthem pulled Corsis upright, "Explain!" But Corsis was already dead, succumbed to his wounds. Furious, the Magos threw the corpse to the ground.

He stormed out of the office, flanked by his Skitarii bodyguards. There was work to be done. Bodies had to be disposed of, and records altered. The Magos's internal vox receiver began beeping. It was one of the outer sentries. There was a fluctuation in Angel Forge's void shield. It was the smallest flicker, but the sentry had witnessed a small craft fleeing through the opening.

Magos Dolthem stopped dead. Fear ran through his circuits, as he came to realize what Corsis's dying words had meant. The truth was out, and heading for Imperial hands. Somehow, someone on that bastard Corsis's side had obtained a copy of the files. He broke into a run, back to the tram station that would take him to the heart of the Forge. As he ran, the Magos began issuing orders to his subordinates. Their timetable had just been cut short. The plan had to be enacted now, or Dolthem's coup would collapse before it even had a chance.

* * *

><p>Hurst had taken the hoversled fast and low across the dead zone. The sled skimmed just above the ruined industrial buildings, as close as Hurst dared get with the unfamiliar controls. It was dangerous, but he and Merrick agreed it was better than flying out in the open.<p>

The question remained what to do with the evidence. Obviously, it had to be handed over to Imperial authorities, but they weren't sure who to trust. Talros may have been a wild card, but the realization of Connor's alliance with the Mechanicus had shaken the two men's confidence in others.

Eventually, they had come down on two sides: Hurst wanted to deliver the information to Governor Derosa; she could relay the message to the greater Imperium and bring justice down on Dolthem's corrupt followers. Merrick suggested taking the data to the regiment; it would also allow them to confront the Commissar.

Either way, the vox receivers weren't working. Capital Spire was closest to Angel Forge, so that was where Hurst was heading. Merrick dumped the last Servitor out the sled's hatch and joined Wadden in the cockpit. Capital spire loomed in the distance. It would be a long trip yet.

The sled's auspex scanner started blinking. "We've got two objects closing fast," said Hurst. "They're sending us a closed band vox relay. Putting it through."

"Attention, fugitives, this is the Adeptus Arbites, Capital Spire precinct. By order of Arbiter Talros, land your craft and we will take you into custody."

Merrick looked to Hurst. "Don't answer them," he ordered. "Maybe they don't know that Talros was a nut. This is too perfect for the Cogboys, they had to have tipped them off. It's a chance to wipe the evidence away and pin it on the arbiters. We'll have to make a run for it."

"In this?" protested Hurst. "Merrick, this thing wouldn't hold up to a lasgun, let alone what the arbiters are packing."

"Yeah, but it's also a lot smaller and more agile than those patrol ships they have, isn't it?" Merrick's eyes flashed. "Take us down lower, low as you can between the buildings."

"Okay," said Hurst. He was still uncertain. "But if we crash, this is your fault and you have to carry me back."

"As long as you don't get another concussion like last time, I'll take you all the way back to Vendoland, Waddy."

Hurst rolled his eyes. Just before the Arbites patrol ships were on top of them, he put the hoversled into an eighty degree dive. The Meridian Aerial Containment Ships had to swing around in a lazy arc before they could follow Hurst into the metal canyons. The MACS were mainly used for riot control, rather than pursuit. The hoversled quickly pulled ahead, widening the distance between it and the pursuers.

When they realized they were falling behind, the patrol ships began to fire. Heavy bolters churned up the buildings around the hoverlsed. Merrick felt the spatter of the bullets striking the sled, followed by the small explosions from the bolt's tips detonating. They began to veer to the left; one of the sled's lift generators had been hit and was billowing acrid yellow smoke.

Hurst tried to compensate for the extra strain, but the sled continued to drift to one side despite his best efforts. "If we take another hit like that, we may as well throw ourselves out the door and save them the trouble of digging through the wreck," he muttered.

Ahead, the abandoned street came to an end at a T-junction. Hurst had few options. Going high would leave them easy targets for the pursuit craft. Turning left or right would just prolong the chase and risk them taking another shot that might put them down for good. The junction was coming up fast; he had to make a decision now.

Hurst instead angled his lifters forward, causing the sled to break hard. The arbiters overshot them, going far too fast. The first MACS smashed into the building at the end of the junction, immediately breaking apart in a fiery mess. The second ship tried to pull up, but debris from the former was sucked into its turbine. The MACS spun wildly out of control, and crashed into the ground, skidding a good thirty meters before coming to a stop in a ball of flames.

Hurst set the sled down on the street, watching the crashes unfold before them. His heart sank. The arbiters were just doing their job, unaware that they had been played. And now they had paid for the deception with their lives.

Merrick just breathed a sigh of relief. He was done with intrigue. The sooner they handed off the data and got back to the regiment, the sooner he would be able to relax.

The hoversled raised up once again, continuing its journey to Capital Spire, where, hopefully, justice would be served.

* * *

><p>Remer struggled to pull himself up the long ladder. His whole body screamed with pain, but he still pressed on. At each walkway that the ladder crossed, he stopped and scanned either side with his lasgun. The firefight was moving away from them, growing more distant. He looked down to Valeris. Surprisingly, the flygirl was keeping pace. He shot her a reassuring grin and continued to climb.<p>

At the next walkway, Remer peered over the lip once more, weapon ready. The deck was covered with greenskin corpses, several smaller gretchin and a handful of the larger boyz. Curious, but still cautious, Remer climbed a little further and then set down on the path. He helped pull Valeris up, and the two sat down for a rest. It was as safe a place as any down in the undercity.

Remer dug into his pack, and produced two ration bars, one for each of them. The two sat there for a while, saying nothing while they rested their aching bodies. Eventually, Remer broached a conversation. "So, flygirl, when we reach the surface, where are you going to go? Back to your squadron?"

Valeris laughed humorlessly, "If any of them are left. No, I'll probably be sent back to the ground wing's billets. They've probably marked me down as dead. Can't well fly until the paperwork gets sorted out."

"Ah, they'll sort it out," said Remer, smiling. "If everything in the world relied on paperwork, nothing would get done and we'd all have to take up filing just to keep from drowning in misplaced requisition sheets."

That managed to put a genuine smile on the pilot's face. Remer couldn't help but notice that, under the layers of undercity grime, the blonde, fair skinned girl was quite attractive. But he kept that to himself. Remer considered himself a womanizer, but he did have morals. This was about survival, first and foremost. He could treat her to a drink later.

"What about you, soldier boy?"

"I don't know, I thought I'd try going rogue, starting my own hive gang. I hear there's a lucrative market in smuggling weapons. I could be a gun runner!" He chuckled, "No, I'll probably head back to my unit, tell them all I'm still alive. And unlike you, the Guard doesn't need to file a requisition form to send a dead man back to the frontline."

Valeris looked down. "You sound like you want to go back."

"Well, of course I do," he said, confused.

"To the frontlines, I mean. Why would you want that?"

Remer had to think hard for an answer. It wasn't a question he had ever really asked himself. "It's the only thing I know how to do," he finally admitted. "It's been eight years now I've fought in this subsector. Sure, there's always downtime, but I never forgot why the Vendolanders were sent here. It was to fight. Not to live, not to settle, just fighting."

"But eight years? How do you survive eight years like this and not go crazy?"

Remer shot Valeris a funny look. "How do _you_ deal with stress, Flygirl?"

"Well, I... I read," she said, "And I exercise. It keeps my mind off things."

"And it's exactly the same with me, you see," said Remer. "Me, I'm always making jokes. I've seen guys lose everything, and it destroyed them on the inside. I feel like, if I stop being happy, I'll lose the one thing that keeps me going. Even if that means I have to pretend to be happy. I can't think about who I'd be if I stopped."

Remer pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. Eight years. Nearly a decade of his life he'd spent in Aurelia. He didn't want to think about it, how much longer it would take before they could leave.

"Do you ever think about your homeworld?" Valeris eventually asked.

"All the time. I'll get back there, someday, one way or another."

Renewed shots interrupted their conversation. Remer pushed Valeris to the ground. "Watch the far side of the bridge!" he ordered. Remer dropped down as well, facing the other way so they covered both ends of the passage. An access tunnel stabbed into the support dome, completely dark. He kept his gun trained on the entrance.

He could hear shouting now, both human and xenos. There was the sound of rushing footsteps, interrupted by the signature snap-hiss of lasgun fire. There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud bang from a flashbang being set off in the tunnel. Sporadic shots whizzed out, passing harmlessly over Remer and Valeris's heads.

Four guardsmen, bent over and bloody, came stumbling out onto the open walkway. They didn't even notice Remer and Valeris as they rushed past, firing more shots back the way they came. A pack of greenskins came charging after them, roaring and firing wildly. Remer set his lasgun on the first Ork and fired.

It took him ten shots on full auto to drop the raging ork, and by then, the rest of the pack had rapidly closed the gap. A grot with a wrench came swinging at him. Great, he thought, I'll be killed by a bloody goblin. Before the grot could connect with his head, it was thrown backwards by a well placed las bolt to the head. Remer glanced back to see Valeris patiently lining up another target with the pistol he had given her. Not bad for a pilot.

The other guardsmen, suddenly aware of the two, stopped running and faced the Orks pursuing them. They formed a firing line and turned their guns on the greenskins, blasting away. A swift and bloody firefight broke out on the exposed path. Imperial lasguns traded fire with crude ork machine guns.

With minimal recoil, the guardsmen were able to line up accurate shots, letting them methodically pick off the remaining greenskins. They targeted the big ones, bringing them down quickly. Remer heard someone scream behind him. He kept on shooting. The greenskins were scattering. Without their masters, the gretchin scurried away rather than stay in the fight.

Remer looked around. Valeris was alright, but the guardsmen they'd encountered were in bad shape. One trooper, laden with a mishmash of equipment, lay curled up on the ground, gripping the stump where his right shin used to be. It had been ripped off by machine gun fire, and the man was screaming bloody murder. A second trooper in the same hodgepodge gear rushed over to help him.

An older soldier with sergeant's chevrons, was openly weeping over the fourth guardsman. He was rocking back and forth, holding the younger man in his arms. The boy was dead; blood was pouring out of the countless bullet holes raked across his chest. Remer limped over to them and was shocked to find that the weeping man was old Gren, the sergeant from Caius's 7th company. Remer looked back to the others and recognized Flinn as well.

Gren looked up at Remer, his eyes red and puffy. The sergeant's lip quivered, and his hands were trembling. They were covered in the blood of his fallen comrade.

"Tamm was an asshole," blurted Gren, his voice hoarse. "I didn't know him very well, but he was an ass. But I still tried to save him. And now look at him. I couldn't save him. I can't save anyone."

Valeris watched as Remer helped the sergeant to his feet. They laid the body of Tamm down gently. She had never seen someone so utterly broken before. Waves of torment washed across the man's face. He didn't seem to notice Remer comforting him; his bloodshot eyes stared out into nothingness. She almost wished that Gren had died rather than be forced to live on like that.

Flinn had applied a tight tourniquet around Rast's stump, and he had applied layers of gauze and a clotting agent to stop the bleeding. He looked over helplessly at Gren.

The sergeant Flinn knew and looked up to wasn't there. Whatever that thing standing there was, it wasn't his Gren. Gren was lost.

* * *

><p>There was a frantic knock on Kippler and Alek's door. The storeroom turned billet for the two soldiers was small and the loud noise quickly broke them from their sleep. Soras nudged Alek awake. It was Kalan Garrett and Donny Serrt, the squad's machine gunners. They both looked like they had run half a mile in full gear.<p>

"What is it?" asked Kippler, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes.

"It's Vornas, sir," said Garrett, still gasping for breath. "He was talking about killing someone in his sleep. I thought he was just dreaming, but when I looked in on him again, he was gone. Took his guns with him, sir."

"The big man's crazy," said Donny. The bald trooper hadn't liked Vornas from the moment they'd met. "Leave it to him to do something stupid the night before a battle."

Oh shit, thought Kippler. Vornas, you stupid fool. The grenadier was going to get himself killed. "I know where he's headed," said Kippler. "Grab a gun and come on. Alek, go wake Captain Uther."

Alek hurried off. Kippler grabbed his long las and ran for the warehouse's exit, the two gunners hot on his heels. He led them into the darkening streets, towards the rail yard. Vornas may have been driven by vengeance, but even Kippler had noticed that Commissar Connor was spending a lot of time near the techpriests overseeing the tank distribution.

They had to hurry, or someone was going to die.

* * *

><p>He was going to kill Connor, tonight. Vornas gripped the laspistol beneath his army issue winter coat. It had to be tonight. Tomorrow, the 4th company would return to the front, and he would miss his chance. Tomorrow, someone else might kill her; he would not be denied his vengeance. Remer deserved better than that.<p>

Everything was her fault. Ever since the commissar had been attached to their company, she had been cracking down on their "poor behaviour". Connor was so uptight it felt as if the troops under her watch weren't allowed to have the slightest sense of humor. Everything had to be serious, all the time, even off duty.

Only Remer seemed immune to her oppression, and Vornas had gravitated toward him for it. His almost gleeful disregard for discipline had proven to be magnetic; despite Remer's sometimes grating sense of humor, he was very well liked among the company. Being thrown together into the Daredevils, Vornas and Remer had become fast friends, and had been inseparable ever since.

Until the first day in Golgotha. Until that goddamn bridge, and that fateful order. Until the day that Connor had broken the Daredevils for no good reason.

A short while after the Commissar had slipped away, Vornas had made his move. Instead of following her directly this time, he darted in between buildings, using alleys and sticking to the shadows. It was dark out now, the streetlights would draw attention to him. He was a big man, an easy target on without the crowds to mask him.

She was heading for the rail yard once again. Vornas had mapped out her entire route. Once she entered the yard station, he would strike. Vornas was surprisingly light on his step for such a large man. A soft layer of fresh snow helped muffle his footsteps as he continued to follow Connor.

There were two tech guard sentries watching the gate to the yard. Vornas ducked into a hab entrance nearby. He pulled out a flash suppressor he had swiped from the company armory and screwed it onto his laspistol. He would have to be quick.

The grenadier swung out of the entrance, laspistol in hand. Without hesitating, Vornas shot the two skitarii before they had a chance to react. The sentries dropped dead, fluids splattering over the snow covered street.

Vornas broke into a run. Nobody had seen him, but there was no going back now. Somebody would be along soon to check on the sentries. He hurried past the gate and melted into the shadows behind the storage sheds, nestled below the overpass above the yard.

The sheds were filled with the new Dorn tanks. Vornas didn't like how they looked, but he grudgingly admitted that they were probably better at city fighting than the good old Leman Russ tanks. Their low, compact frames would be perfect for the knife fight ranges that tanks in cities often found themselves in. The Dorns were barely higher than Vornas's head.

He made it to the main station, the one Connor always visited. It was a long, tall building that ran along the length of the rail yard, parallel to the lines themselves. Vornas hadn't gotten a good look at it since they had arrived nearly two weeks ago, but he remembered enough to plan out his escape in advance.

All the entrances were guarded. Vornas paid no heed to the danger; he purposefully strode towards the western door, lasgun in hand, firing at the unsuspecting sentries. It was almost too easy. He brushed the thought aside, focusing instead on his true target: Connor.

He kicked in the door. Inside, several techpriests saw him approach and fled. The hall was filled with receptionists' desks and long benches. High, arched windows cast beams of floodlight from the yard outside. Above Vornas, three grand chandeliers with a hundred candles each illuminated the great hall with a warm glow.

The Commissar stood in the middle of the room, her back turned to him, speaking to a priestess who seemed quite agitated. Connor turned at the commotion he had caused, immediately bringing her bolt pistol to bear on him. She seemed surprised to see him. As if she didn't know why Vornas would want her dead. Was she really that blind?

"Care to explain your actions, trooper?" she said threateningly. The commissar tilted her head back to the priestess. "What should I do with him, Aros?"

"Kill him, Connor," urged the priestess. "We haven't much time, the Magos has been compromised. The plan must be initiated, and it will be done so on schedule. We can afford no delay."

"I see you haven't fired yet, private," said Connor, a cruel smile on her lips. "Can't handle the pressure, Vornas? I thought you were supposed to be the big man on the squad. Or did you waste it all on those guards outside? Not exactly the subtlest of entrances."

Vornas steadied his laspistol with two hands. "Not another word out of you, bitch," he snarled. "Down on your knees, so you can die like the dog you are. Its more than scum like you deserves."

Connor rolled her eyes, still wearing that mocking grin. "Oh please, Vornas, don't lecture me on execution procedures, I am a commissar. You should have taken your shot when you walked in. You will never make it out of this building alive."

Vornas looked around. There were guards all around, hands on their autoguns. They hadn't trained their weapons on him yet, but the Skitarii were watching the standoff intensely. They were waiting to see what happened.

"Kill him, Connor," repeated Aros emphatically.

"Why do this, Vornas?" asked Connor. "I am genuinely curious what your reasons are. What could have possibly penetrated that thick skull that made you think this was a good idea?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" shouted Vornas. He was shaking, furious. "You killed Remer, you left him to die! I could have saved him!"

"There was no time, Vornas. The building was coming down, if we had stayed there everyone would be dead. I made a decision that preserved men to fight another day. Now, you might not like that, but I stand by my decision, and I would do the same if it were anyone else in that situation."

"Oh yeah?" retorted Vornas. "Even if it was your little boyfriend, the Captain?"

"Even Lars," Connor said coldly. "Duty to the Emperor before duty to oneself. Even one as limited as yourself understands that. Or am I wrong?"

Vornas had to laugh. "For someone dedicated to inspiring and leading by example, you don't know the first thing about human contact, bitch."

"And I suppose you're the expert, eh?"

Around them, the techpriests that hadn't fled began to shuffle. Those with mouths whispered, while those without communicated via binary. Again, Aros pressured Connor to kill Vornas. "You waste time with such words, commissar!" she exclaimed. "Are you with us, or against us? There is no place in the Magos's employ for personal issues. Either you kill him, or I shall."

Vornas gestured at the priest whispering in Connor's ear. "So, what's this? You work for the cogboys now?"

Connor's face was set in stone, devoid of expression. She looked back to Aros. "I am loyal to my employers, Aros. And Magos Dolthem's offer has provided much for me. I am more clear now in my purpose than ever before."

Without warning, Connor spun around, jamming her bolt pistol into the priestess's head. She squeezed the trigger. Aros's skull disintegrated instantly into bone and metal fragments. "My purpose, my loyalties, lie with the Emperor, and the Imperium."

The train station erupted into chaos. The skitarii opened fire on Connor and Vornas, their autoguns rattling as they sprayed bullets. Unarmed priests made a run for it, fleeing from the fight. Vornas ducked behind a receptionist's desk. Connor turned her bolt pistol on the tech guard, standing her ground.

Behind the heavy wooden desk, Vornas checked the laspistol's power cell. He'd set the charge to full power, intending to drop Connor with one shot. He had enough energy left for about two dozen shots before the cell was fried. Regardless of Connor's spat with the cogboys, Vornas fully intended to kill her when he had the chance.

Bullets chewed up the furniture around him. There was a slight pause as the tech guard stopped to reload. Their autoguns only had thirty bullets per magazine, not much before they needed a refill. Vornas readied himself. After the skitarii stopped to reload a second time, he broke cover. One skitarius took two full power shots to the abdomen, vaporizing his stomach, while his cohorts dropped behind cover. Vornas fired four more shots, splintering desks and chairs with each blast.

Meanwhile, Connor was engaged in a running duel with the Skitarii detachment leader. Her freshly augmented spine allowed her to contort further than before; she managed to pull off some shots that impressed even herself. While only a fool believed one could 'dodge' bullets, Connor admitted that she was exceptionally more difficult to hit than before.

It was straining, however. Her body was still recovering from the wounds she'd received days earlier; her arm continued to let her down. But she put up a ferocious fight, keeping the pressure on the mechanicus forces while keeping a close eye on Vornas.

The fool had botched everything. He'd unwittingly forced both her hand and that of the priesthood. Now, all her work and preparation had dissipated in a puff of gun smoke. At least he was keeping the other skitarii occupied. But still, the commissar had to watch her back. Finally, a shot from her bolt pistol connected with the leader, blowing his head off in a shower of sparks.

Another squad of skitarii broke into the main hall from the far east entrance. They were hauling a heavy stubber, and deployed themselves in a defensive pattern. Connor threw herself to the marble floor, overturning a table as she did. A moment later, the stubber opened up, chugging a hail of bullets down the hall. Wood splintered, parchment was torn and glass shattered under the thundering barrage.

Vornas peeked around a bench. There was Connor, cowering behind a rapidly shrinking table like the worthless sack she was. "Where's your courage now, Commissar?" he jeered, his voice lost amidst the gunfire.

The tech guard cared nothing for their number caught in the crossfire. Wounded units willingly deactivated their friend or foe identifiers to allow the gunners' a full firing arc. They would rather sacrifice themselves than let their targets use them as shields to escape. The hall was quickly being torn apart; once ornately carved cabinets and desks being reduced to firewood, the spotless marble floor smeared with blood and oil, the gothic window frames shattered into fragments.

Behind Connor and Vornas, the west doors broke open, and more men piled inside. This was it, thought Connor. There was no way out now, she was trapped. Resigning herself to death, she unsheathed her powersword, awkwardly hefting it with her injured arm. They wouldn't take her without a fight.

But instead, she heard yells, and she saw the orange beams of lasgun fire, the smell of ozone tingeing the smoky air. And then she heard his voice. The only voice she would ever care for.

* * *

><p>"Squads, move up! Lieutenant, center aisle, pour it on them, lads!" Captain Lars Uther, commander of the 4th grenadiers company, led the charge in only his white undershirt. With him were roughly forty troopers from the company in various states of undress, storming across the hall and taking the fight to the mechanicus soldiers.<p>

Kippler zeroed his gaze on Vornas and came running. As the big man was getting to his feet, Kippler smashed the butt of his long las into his face. He heard a wet crunch of broken cartilage, and Vornas went sprawling. Before he could get up, the rest of the Daredevils were on top of him, holding him down.

"Get off me!" he howled, clawing to pull Serrt off his back and kicking out at Alek trying to grab his leg.

Kippler delivered a savage kick to Vornas's chest, taking the wind out of him. He crumpled instantly. The thin sergeant squatted down to look at Vornas face to face. "Not until you calm down, private," he said sternly. He nudged the grenadier where it was sore. "Otherwise, we do this again, until you learn to take your head out of your ass and listen when I give you an order."

"Get... fucked, Kippler," Vornas said, choking on his own spit while Donny squeezed harder.

Kippler raised his hands. "Have it your way, then," he said, getting to his feet. "Hold him down. Mathis, if he tries anything, give him another kick."

"Aye, sir," said the corporal. Kippler picked up his long las and started taking shots at the tech guard on the far side of the room.

Uther revved his chainsword, cleaving the arm off of a cogboy. This night had gone completely to hell. When private Tendall had broken into his room screaming bloody murder about trooper Vornas trying to kill the commissar, he'd gathered up as many men he could awaken and made for the rail yard. With two dead guards at the gates, the mechanicus hadn't been welcoming; the Vendolanders were shot at on sight. A fight had broken out.

After dispatching several more skitarii in the yard, the grenadiers had moved on the main station, drawn towards the sound of gunshots within. The tech guard were fewer than Uther's ragtag band, but they were good. A half dozen troopers were killed instantly by autogun fire. Uther responded with overwhelming force, his men issuing huge volleys of lasfire downrange before he led them into hand to hand combat with the remainder of the enemy detachment.

In the quick, brutal melee, Uther claimed three skitarii with his chainsword. His grenadiers, armed with bayonets and knives, swiftly put down the rest of the enemy troops.

As the fighting wore down, Uther called for a head count. They'd lost nine men, among them lieutenant Whelm. Lieutenant Baird Lonnis was seriously injured, as was sergeant Tonner. The skitarii had targeted their leaders. Uther himself had a serious graze where an autogun bullet had ripped open his left cheek, which bled down onto his shirt, now coated in blood and sweat. Alek and the other corpsmen tended to their injuries, applying gauze and injecting coagulant agents to stem blood loss.

Elle stood up and brushed herself off. The two stared at each other from across the room for what felt like hours. Then, she walked towards Uther. She moved as if to speak, but Lars raised a hand warningly. "Not another word from you before I find out just what the hell is going on here. Kippler! Bring him up here."

The daredevils hauled Vornas's bulk toward the captain and threw him down on the floor in front of him. Uther looked at Elle and then at Vornas. "Explain this to me."

The gathered troops looked expectantly at their commissar. Vornas tried to speak, but all that came out were a few pained wheezes and a lot of blood from his smashed nose. Elle looked down at the beaten soldier. She hesitated. "I'm waiting," snapped Lars.

Connor straightened herself up. "I made a terrible mistake, Captain. And that was not trusting you. This man, private Vornas, just saved my life. And I shall do the same by sparing his."

Lars wasn't impressed. "He saved your life? His sergeant says otherwise. Kippler tells me he planned to have you killed."

"It may seem that way, Captain, but I assure you that private Vornas never fired a shot at me, and he covered my back during that engagement. I hold no ill will against him."

It was a flimsy story, she knew. None of the men looked convinced, least of all Lars. He rested against the remains of a table, looking around the destroyed hall. "About that, do you mind telling me what all this was for? As long as you're being honest, I want the truth about all of this."

Connor sighed. "It is a long story, but I'll make it simple. These past few months, I have been spying for Magos Dolthem, relaying troop movements and deployment schedules to the mechanicus based out of Angel Forge. They contacted me not long after the destruction of Spire Legis, seeing me as an ally. I obliged them, intending to use my position to in turn spy on the priesthood's private dealings."

There was an outburst of protest among the men, shocked at Connor's words. Uther barked at them to shut up, and Connor continued.

"This xenos invasion is merely a convenience being used by Dolthem to expand his power over Meridian. It neatly ties up the bulk of the Imperial Guard forces on the planet while giving him free reign to take control of the Forge for his own purposes. He intends to stage a coup and overthrow Governor Derosa. After tonight, I expect he will no longer be able to hide his actions. It is far sooner than I had hoped, but unavoidable."

Lars crossed his arms. "So, what were you doing here tonight, then?"

Conner continued. "I received word from my contact, Aros." Elle pointed to the splattered remains of the priestess in the center of the hall. "She told me that the Magos had been compromised, and that the mechanicus needed to move onto the next phase of their plan. There is going to be an uprising, Uther. Soon."

Hanntis, a vox operator, spoke up. "But if the cogboys are against us, why'd they deliver all these new tanks? Why arm their enemies?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps it was just a cover to put them in a position to cripple the Guard regiments. The mechanicus couldn't care less for the fate of Golgotha Spire. Only the Forge matters to them. A handful of tanks to keep us bogged down in a prolonged campaign with the Orks seems as likely as any theory."

"So this is why you were so distant?" asked Lars, quietly. She could see the betrayal he felt etched across his face. It killed her to see him like this.

"Yes," she said, her head hung low. She couldn't bear to look him in the face. "I had to push you away. I had to convince Aros that I was committed to their cause. It was the only way I could gain their trust. I understand if you will not forgive me for this. I cannot forgive myself."

There was an awkward silence among the company, only broken by Vornas's bloody coughs. The captain and the commissar's relationship was the worst kept secret in the entire regiment, but they had never publically discussed their feelings for one another. Now, they were doing it in front of everyone.

"So, what happens now?" she asked.

Uther took a long time to answer. "Now, we sleep. Tomorrow, we move to take the Rok, and then, Luesan Island. Elle, I can't forgive you for this, not now. I spoke to the colonel this morning. Commissar Lord Gardus will be along after the battle, to transfer you to another company. I think it will be best for both of us. I don't feel I can trust you anymore."

Connor felt her chest seize up. But she straightened herself, and forced herself looked directly at Lars. All that she had put him through, she thought. There was no punishment great enough.

"I understand... sir."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: This was a fun chapter to write, and it had a much faster turnaround than my last few updates. I don't know if I'll keep up this pace, but I'm on a bit of a roll. I intend to finish Thundering 77s before the end of the year. After that, I'm going to take some time to revise a few of the older stories so plot details add up, and then it will be onto the next battlefield. Hope you enjoy!<p> 


	32. Thundering 77s: Five Miles Through Hell

**Five Miles Through Hell**

The main spine of the Administratum Complex, the governor's palace, was belching flames into the night sky. Smoke black as tar was billowing out of the tower, and response crews were frantically trying to contain the blaze and cordon off the affected floors. There was no sign that the city itself had been attacked, but the palace had once again been targeted.

It had taken Hurst most of the day to bring the sled back to Capital Spire. Upon arrival, the Adeptus Arbites had contacted them again, this time without arming their weapons. The MACS brought the hoversled into a protective formation, escorting Merrick and Hurst into the city. They were directed to the Gulch, the large cut in the side of the spire used to dock massive supply ships.

Landing on a small pad in the Gulch, Merrick and Hurst were greeted by a team of black cloaked arbiters. Both troopers raised their hands above their heads. "If you're going to take us in," said Merrick, "at least be nice enough to look at this disk first."

The arbiters didn't raise their weapons. Confused, Merrick watched as the Arbites captain strode towards them. "Sergeant major Merrick, sergeant Hurst, I'm to escort you to Governor Derosa immediately. We received word of officer Talros's illegal operation a few days ago."

Hurst lowered his arms and spoke, "You're not here to arrest us, then? We were intercepted by two patrol ships over the dead zone earlier."

"We are looking into the incident, soldier. But recent events take priority. There has been a terrorist attack on the Governor's life."

Merrick looked up to the tower, still burning. "Does that have anything to do with it?" he asked dryly.

"Yes," said the captain, oblivious of Merrick's sarcasm. "Now please, follow me."

The guardsmen and their escort boarded the Arbites MACS and rose out of the Gulch. As they flew towards the tower, Merrick looked over the spire. More MACS were shining their lights on enormous crowds flooding the streets. Refugees, the pilot explained. With a full scale invasion engulfing Golgotha Spire, the Capital was the only safe haven for the displaced citizens.

There was so much he had to catch up on, Merrick realized. More than two weeks trapped in Angel Forge, and the rest of the planet had gone to hell when he wasn't looking. The Ork attack on Golgotha must have been huge to warrant a full evacuation.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a private pad halfway up the palace tower. Merrick and Hurst were hurried inside by the Captain. It was one of the government meeting rooms, used by minor officials to handle day to day operations across the Spire. Governor Derosa sat at the table in the center of the room, allowing the medicae staff to tend to a nasty looking head wound. Standing watch over them was a red robed Techpriest, pistol in hand.

Merrick immediately went for his gun, but the Governor stopped him. "Wait, sergeant major, hold your fire! Engineseer Harchek is not your enemy. Please, let him explain."

He lowered his weapon, slowly. Elena Derosa was one of the few locals on Meridian Merrick fully trusted. "Alright, ma'am, if you say so. But if this cogboy makes a move, I will take his frakking head off. I am through with the goddamn mechanicus."

"I assure you, I am no threat, sergeant major," said Harchek. "I am one of those loyal to Logis Corsis, like you."

"I am loyal to the Emperor and to my friends," said Merrick sharply, "What little games did that old skeleton have you running?"

"I was Angel Forge's liaison to the governor's office," said Harchek. "The Magos sent an assassin after Derosa, but I was on hand to defend her."

A dead techpriest lay in the corner, leaking from bullet wounds that had ripped through his red garments. "The Magos's followers are difficult to tell apart for anyone who does not know where to look. I imagine they could hide anywhere the priesthood goes, and normal citizens would be none the wiser."

"Dolthem has made his intentions clear with this act," said Derosa. The medic wrapped a long bandage around her head. "Magos Dolthem is a traitor to the Imperium, and he must pay for this outrage."

Finally, somebody talking sense, thought Merrick. "Why did you send for us, ma'am?"

Derosa pointed to priest. "Harchek told me to. It seems you have had quite the adventure recently, sergeant major. Harchek has been most eager to speak with you."

Harcheck elaborated, "Logis Corsis sent a message to all loyal engineseers across Meridian. It was difficult to decipher, but I managed to extract his instructions. Corsis told us to offer you any help we can. When I realized you would come to Derosa, I had the governor send for you."

Merrick spoke. "How did you know we would come to Derosa, and not back to our own regiment?"

"Statistical probability, sergeant major."

"Oh?"

"The mechanicus was provided extensive dossiers on troopers in the Vendoland regiments, graciously provided to us by one Commissar Connor," said Harchek. "You have a predisposition to side with sergeant Hurst when taking decisive action, sergeant major. The numbers suggested he would come to the governor."

"Connor provided that info, huh?" said Merrick. Well, that just confirmed what the recordings had told him. "I guess she was a traitor, after all."

The engineseer disagreed, "Not a traitor, Merrick. A double agent. Connor played a very dangerous game to infiltrate the Magos's inner circle, but it paid off. Corsis managed to submit her espionage results to us from under Dolthem's nose. She has proven to be indispensible to our cause."

Harchek holstered his weapon. He walked across the room and held out a gloved hand to Merrick. "Now, I believe that you have something I wish to see. Corsis would not have entrusted you with data unless he had faith you could deliver it safely."

"And you are alright with this, Governor?" Merrick asked Derosa.

"He has proven himself to be trustworthy, sergeant major. Give him what he needs."

"Alright then."

Merrick handed the MIU chip to the engineseer. The priest connected the chip to his head. He stood still for several seconds, the lights on his chest and his optics clusters blinking rapidly. He suddenly broke into spasms where he stood. Servomotors uttered a high pitched whine as they nearly overloaded.

Harchek could barely speak without his voice stuttering, "Sergeant major, do you know what is on this chip?"

"Yeah," mumbled Merrick trying to remember everything Corsis had made him research, "tank schematics, security recordings, shipping orders, that sort of thing. Why?"

Harchek pulled the chip free, nearly collapsing after he did. "There is far more than that on here, Merrick. This chip, it contains the entire contents of Angel Forge's heart. There is thousands of years worth of information on here, possibly the entire manifest and schematics for Angel Forge from its inception!"

"What?" said Merrick, bemused. "But, he had me looking for specific stuff. If it was a simple as downloading the entire Heart of the Forge, why have us search through files like that?"

"He only needed access to the forge," suggested Hurst. "All we did was access what we could from the terminals, but Corsis saw everything we did through our connection. Perhaps that was all he needed."

Merrick threw up his hands, disgusted. "So, he used us, just like that bastard Talros. Goddamn, I hate this." He glared at Harchek, who was admiring the small MIU chip like it was a work of art. "Was any of the intel we gathered worth it to you?"

Harchek barely paid notice to the them, "Oh, sergeant major, what you have delivered to us is worth more than a hundred worlds. But our work is not done. The treacherous Dolthem must pay for his heresy. His corruption will doom Angel Forge before its true wonders can be unlocked."

Merrick crossed his arms and shook his head. "No way, I'm not doing any more of your dirty work, priest. Find someone else."

"Very well, I will ask no more of you, then," said Harchek, unfazed. He looked to Derosa. "Madam, I must request your aid in this matter. Angel Forge must be retaken, and soon. The greater priesthood must be made aware of the Magos's crimes. We will need men, and provisions. It will take an army to break his hold on the manufactorums."

Derosa stood upright, struggling to keep her balance. But the tough governor put on a strong face and addressed the anxious techpriest, "I will send the request, Harchek, in the morning. For now, we must look to our own defenses, in case Dolthem's saboteurs have struck elsewhere this night."

Harchek thanked the governor over and over before excusing himself from the room. Head throbbing, Derosa waved over the two Vendolanders. "I have to thank you once more, gentlemen. Whatever you wish, you will have it. What do you desire?"

Merrick shrugged noncommittally. "A shower and a warm bed. After that, well, there's nothing I want more than to get back to my men. I'm not cut out for subterfuge, ma'am. I'm a soldier, not a spy."

"To be honest, governor, I am in agreement," said Hurst. "We've been away from the regiment too long."

"Then it will be done." Derosa summoned an orderly, a young page in a maroon silk robe. "Take these men to the nobles' suites. Offer them every courtesy. And don't start playing humble, sergeant major. You would insult me by turning down my generosity. Take it, and enjoy it. I know it's more than the Guard often gets."

Merrick had to laugh. "Well, ma'am, when you put it like that, it looks like I'll have no choice but to accept."

The page led them to the suites. The rooms were large and extravagant. The walls were adorned with antique swords that rested on carven plaques. Some of the finest paintings Capital Spire's artisans had produced hung next to the pair of enormous beds that dominated the far wall. Behind this wall, two doors opened onto a great balcony, a spectacular overlook that presented the Spire in all its glory.

Merrick and Hurst ignored all these and immediately passed out on the beds.

* * *

><p>The Rok stood firm against the imperial barrage. From midnight onward, every available artillery battery from Temple Hill's southern face had been firing relentlessly at the structure. Now, six hours later, nearly fifty thousand imperial guardsmen stood ready to assault the Ork fortress.<p>

At the front were the 85th Vendoland, the Cadian Xenobane, and the Dyneemek Jaegers, together comprising just over twenty thousand men. Two full divisions of Maveron Infantry, the 311th and 316th, were held in reserve, ready to move forward at a moment's notice. Together, they formed a force of armor, infantry and artillery that represented fully two thirds of Imperial manpower in the west sector.

As shells whirred overhead, Major Armand Lester took one last look through his binoculars. The greenskins were massing at the base of their fortress. There were thousands of them, far more than had hit the Imperial line days before. The plan had worked, though Lester was beginning to worry it had worked a little too well.

With Warboss Smashface engaging the bulk of the Imperial Guard along Golgotha's east bank, Colonel Moran and Crassus had come up with a daring plan to relieve pressure from the main army. The guard in the west sector would strike at the Ork fortress, drawing the xenos back into the island, allowing for a swift counterattack by the main force. It was risky, but the only alternative was digging in for a protracted war of attrition.

The key to the plan's success hinged on the Maveron regiments. Though inexperienced compared to the veteran Vendoland, Cadian and Artemian units, they far outnumbered the other regiments. Maveron provided Imperial Guard tithes in bulk. There were twenty divisions of operating in the Golgotha theatre alone, three hundred thousand men. When the greenskins were drawn into the trap, the Maverons would charge forward to reinforce the elite units, overwhelming the xenos with sheer numbers.

Lester was going in with the first wave. 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 85th were to maintain the flanks of the Cadian Xenobane. The Cadians would form an armoured spearhead to take the fight to the Orks. Three Baneblades and dozens of Leman Russ and Rogal Dorn tanks would attract the greenskins like flies to a corpse. Crassus would bring up the rear with the 85th's 3rd Battalion.

The Major tested his power fist. The weapon had been specially fitted the day before, and Lester was eager to try it out. Despite its size, he found it quite lightweight and easy to use. The greenskins would be in for a surprise.

His vox operator, Murtonn called him over. "That was the Navy, sir. We have air support standing by."

"Good," said Lester. He straightened his helmet, "Send word to Colonel Moran that our units are in position, and ready to move on his command."

* * *

><p>Captain Tyrell listened as Helios Squadron sounded off. They were high above the city, waiting for the signal to drop on the Ork formation. The Thunderbolt squadron was on ground attack duty, and so their fighter jets had been fitted with large fuel pods to increase their loiter time. Tyrell already knew that it was going to be another long day.<p>

Less than two weeks of action over Golgotha and his squadron had already lost four of the original twelve pilots. Lieutenant Hexus being shot down on the first day of the invasion had hit the rest of the pilots hard. Now, the surviving members of Helios had to babysit their fallen brethren's replacements. They were still far too green for Tyrell's liking, and few survived their first sortie.

Davoss had taken over as his second. Before him, it had been Narklos, and before that, Hexus. After Valeris had gone down, the second spot seemed cursed. Narklos had only been in the position three days before a junker had blasted his fuselage in two. Davoss had survived longest, but suspicion still hung around the hot seat.

The storm was beginning to break, moving northwards up the coast of Lake Aradine, and sunshine was finally shining across the Spire. In the storm wouldn't have risked the low flying attack runs. Tyrell had heard about some madmen from the Marauder Wings doing strafing runs through the blizzard itself, but he'd chalked that up to exaggeration. He wasn't stupid enough to willingly dive through low cloud cover.

Tyrell's vox crackled. The techs had managed to alleviate the poor communications by amplifying the receiver's output. The static was still there, but it wasn't impenetrable anymore. "Helios one, this is Golgotha 3 control. Ground forces are a go, you're cleared for close air support."

"Copy that, control," Tyrell switched to the squadron's closed band vox link. "Okay, boys, we've got the green light to engage. Rookies, follow your flight leaders at six o'clock high and watch what they do. No sense in you smearing yourselves over the deck like strawberry jam."

The squadron sounded off in agreement. Tyrell led them in a prayer. When he finished Davoss took to the vox. "Helios squadron, we are the Sun! Cast our light upon the enemies of man, and burn 'em all! Fire from the sky!"

"Fire from the sky!" repeated the pilots. Helios broke into their individual flights, and set into a dive. Tyrell felt his control surfaces shaking from the extreme forces, but he held it together. Luesan Island rose up to greet them, choked with billowing black clouds from a million fires.

Coming in closer, the fighter pilots began to make out the enemy units milling around the base of the Rok. Tyrell switched to hunter killer missiles and waited for the target lock to turn red.

* * *

><p>Streaking missiles smashed into the greenskin armor formations, followed shortly by a series of sonic booms. Uther looked up to barely catch sight of the last Thunderbolt before it rocketed out of view. The attack came so fast and so sudden that, before the Orks had time to regroup, three more thunderbolt flights had followed through on the airstrike, sending the xenos reeling. Unable to keep up with the fast moving fighter bombers, the Rok's anti-air cannons ineffectually spurted flak shells into the sky.<p>

4th company was poised to advance along the Xenobane's left flank with the rest of 1st Battalion. Dug in along a line of sandbags and aegis walls, they stood at the edge of greenskin territory. The morning's bombardment had flattened most of the hab blocks leading up to the Rok, leaving a wilderness of twisted metal and crumbling rockcrete.

Their Chimera transports hummed, engines idling. The vehicles had been refitted with heavy bolter and autocannon turrets, effectively turning the transports into ad hoc tanks. They needed all the firepower they could get, and it was worth sacrificing mobility for an extra punch. Only five of the company's eight Chimeras were active, though. Uther hoped it would be enough, even with the up-gunned turrets.

He turned his attention to the troopers themselves, passing by each squad in the company. He was still down twenty troopers with injuries, but the reserve battalion had brought 4th company up to about one hundred and eighty men. The reservists weren't exactly green, none of the Vendolanders were, but Uther still made sure that his top NCOs were guiding them. For many, this would be their first pitched battle.

Uther finished his walk down the line. Connor was waiting for him at the end. He still couldn't look at her directly after the night before. The investigation into the firefight was underway, but the regiment could not afford being down a company any longer. Whatever feelings on the incident had to be put away for the time being. The Imperial Guard needed soldiers on the frontline, now.

Vornas had been held back, however. While Uther had no control over Connor, he was still the company commander. The dissident grenadier was being held under guard by sergeant Nakann and a squad of reservists. He had yet to decide on what punishment Vornas deserved. Being away from the fight would have to do for now until Uther thought of something.

The Commissar nodded when he approached her. There was no warmth in his eyes or his voice as he spoke, "Take your contingent up the left side of the street, use the buildings for cover. 2nd company is supporting us, so watch your lanes of fire. We do this like any other fight, we sweep the way clear, building by building. No unnecessary risks."

"Understood," she said. She looked at the scar on Lars's cheekbone he'd received last night. It was still raw, and the bitter cold made it stand out all the more as his face flushed red. Lars had taken many wounds during the regiment's time in the subsector, but that was the only one that Connor could blame on herself. "We move on your order, captain."

"Carry on, then." Uther turned back and returned to his place on the line. The shelling continued, intermixed with the repeated airstrikes. Tensions grew among the men as they continued to wait, growing more anxious by the minute.

* * *

><p>Colonel Moran watched the bombardment from the Baneblade <em>Antonis Secundus's<em> hololith display. With the Ork's in disarray, he knew it was time. Raynis took the vox speaker and switched to the command channel. With the interference and now rumors of jamming, the closed band waves were the only effective way to relay orders. It would be up to the individual regimental commanders to pass them onto the troops.

"All Imperial units, this is Moran. Green light to engage. We are go."

* * *

><p>At the seventh hour, the Imperial Guard advanced. Between them and the Rok was five kilometers of half destroyed buildings, hundreds of armored vehicles, and thousands upon thousands Orks.<p>

They moved cautiously at first, using the tanks and transports as mobile cover. Down the center of the advance, the Xenobane's three super heavy tanks trundled inexorably towards the greenskins. _Kasr's Pride, Hrud Stomper, _and _Antonis Secundus_ each led behind them ten leman russ tanks, and three rogal dorns. Behind them came the infantry, all eight thousand Cadians of the regiment.

The imperials came under fire almost immediately. A chaotic storm of heavy machine gun fire, explosive shells and armor piercing laser beams shot across the desolate landscape. One leman russ took an anti tank rocket to the front lower glacis. The driver was killed instantly, and the battle tank listed right into the side of a building. The weakened structure buckled from the hit, sending tonnes of brick and rockcrete down onto the stricken vehicle.

Unflinching, Colonel Moran sat in _Antonis Secundus's _command cupola, spotting for the heavy tank. He barked into the vox bead to the driver, "Fargos, hard right, move to cover the gap." Raynis switched to the closed channel linking each tank back to his command vehicle. "McTavish, we're moving to the right, you hold down the middle."

"Aye sir," came the husky voice of the tanker. As Moran's baneblade peeled away, _Kasr's Pride_ swept forward, sponson and coaxial guns sputtering explosive rounds downrange. Orks in the open were popped like green melons, shredded by bolter fire. A few desperate greenskins stayed long enough to fire off another volley of rockets. The projectiles that had wrecked the first russ tank barely scratched the frontal armor of the Baneblade. The tankbusters were reduced to red and green mulch by the forward gunner's heavy bolter.

Despite the heavy fire, the greenskins weren't presenting Moran with many targets. The constant back and forth shelling by both sides had leveled most of the island's hab blocks, creating perfect cover for both sides. "_Adranus 1 _and _2," _ordered Moran, "pull in beside _Antonis_ and torch these buildings. Flush them out into the open."

A pair of Hellhound flame tanks rolled up alongside the Baneblade. Their promethium spewing inferno cannons could melt metal, and the gunners turned them on the bombed out shelters. Long jets of liquid flame spewed out, engulfing the buildings. Greenskins turned black by their burns stumbled out of hiding and were quickly killed.

The advance was moving slowly, but steadily. Anywhere the Baneblades turned their fire, xenos died, unable to effectively counter the Cadian assault. The Leman Russ tanks moved in perfect concert with the infantry platoons, each covering the other while they rooted out the Orks hab by hab. But to Moran, the standout performances came from the Rogal Dorn crews.

The Rogal Dorn battle tanks seemed made for street fighting. Their low profile and angled armor allowed the tanks to creep up on Ork emplacements alarmingly fast and unhindered, before blasting their defenses to rubble. While the short barreled variants dealt with the greenskin mobs, the long vanquisher armed tanks sniped at the incoming Ork armor from afar. They turned the enemy's cover against them, making the low tanks all but invisible.

There wasn't much room to maneuver off the main thoroughfares. Where tanks could not go, sentinel squadrons and infantry pushed across wrecked office complexes and ruined parks. Moran allowed his infantry officers as much flexibility as he could spare; he was an armored commander at heart. His place was in a tank, so he left the foot soldiers to follow their initiative.

It was something of a mixed blessing. The men all saw Moran as an exceptional leader, but that was due to their own successes, not his. He knew how to support infantry, but not command them. The sergeants and lieutenants did their jobs well, but he feared that if he fell, the cohesion between the tankers and the troopers would fall with him.

The greenskin armor was coming their way. The Cadian colonel saw them moving through his binoculars. Dozens of imperial tanks, looted from Golgotha's storehouses, and several assault walkers that towered over the tallest Orks. Moran knew that the casualties would soon mount. He could see it even now, as resistance to the advance began to intensify. They had only struck the outlying forces. The true fight was still ahead.

* * *

><p>On the left flank, the Vendoland 1st Battalion had become bogged down in street to street fighting. Orks, using the warrens of tunnels that ran below the city's surface, had ambushed them, leading to several fierce firefights. Caught in brutal close quarters fighting, dozens of Guardsmen fell to the greenskins, led by vicious Kommando Nobs.<p>

Major Lester sidestepped a lunging kommando and swung his power fist into the brute's exposed side. Upon contact, the weapon's energy discharge hit he greenskin with the force of a lascannon. The kommando went flying, a fist shaped dent left in his armor.

"1st Company, with me!" he roared, raising his fist to rally the men. Two hundred guardsmen pressed onward towards their current target, a miraculously intact hab block. A small cafe grew out of the side of the grey slab, where it rested in ruin. 1st company stormed through the hab's access hatches.

Inside, the guardsmen met Ork axes with power fists, chainswords and bayonets. Bright flashes of lasgun fire ripped through the walls, and the orange wash of trooper Lerdann's flamer illuminated the corridors leading further into the building. The center of the hab block was a large, rectangular room with a twisting stairway leading to the upper level.

"Sarthis, second floor, go! I want eyes above," shouted the major. Lieutenant Sarthis, 1st Company's CO, quickly organized a detail to take the stairs. Despite being thrust into command following Captain Treig's death, had taken to the role well.

"Darnett, your men are with me. Lerdann, you're up front."

The flame trooper nodded silently. As the rest of the company secured the ground floor, he cautiously edged his way up the stairwell. He was two steps from the top when he took a shot to the tanks. The propellant tank burst, and Lerdann was thrown hard into the wall. His promethium tank was mercifully intact, but without propellant, his flamethrower was little better than a club.

Darnett's men raced up behind him, firing over the rim of the staircase at whoever had hit Lerdann. Sarthis lobbed a grenade down the hall, blowing a wooden door to splinters. The greenskins returned fire around corners and from several rooms off the main corridor. The platoon cleared each room in turn, throwing a grenade in each before peppering the inside with gunfire.

Sergeant Darnett went down with from a wound he took in the stomach. A gretchin with a shotgun cackled with delight before the rest of Darnett's squad caught up with him and extracted their revenge.

Sarthis's vox bead bleeped. "Lieutenant, report! What's taking so long?"

"Sorry major, we're knee deep in greenskins up here," said Sarthis. He snapped off a few bursts of covering fire while the troopers rushed the next set of rooms.

"I'm sending up another squad, lieutenant. Keep going and watch for friendlies from the rear!"

"Copy that, Major," said Sarthis, relieved. He closed the vox link. A dozen more troopers hit the second floor, bringing another flamer with them as well as grenade launchers. Sarthis's team attacked the Ork defenders with renewed vigor, rooting them from their hiding spots.

Ten minutes later, the second floor was cleansed. Corpsmen had come to retrieve Lerdann and Darnett. Lerdann had a concussion, while Darnett was pale from blood loss. Sarthis collected his troopers before moving ahead. He had about thirty men, all told. They moved through the hab block until they reached the far side's entry hatch. Sarthis opened the hatch and a whoosh of cold air blew down the corridor.

A bridge connected the building to the next hab block across the side street. The cabling upholding the bridge looked frayed in places, and it sagged disturbingly to one side. Sarthis called up Goldemar, "You're light on your feet, corporal. Get across and see if it will hold for the rest of us."

The corporal complied. With almost catlike grace, he hopped across the bridge without upsetting its balance one bit. "It's steady," Goldemar called, waving them over. Sarthis followed him over, and one by one, the 1st company troopers crossed the gap.

Sarthis hailed Lester on the vox again. "Major, we're through. Look up to your left."

"I see you. Good work, now get onto the rooftop and provide covering fire."

"Will do, sir."

An inset ladder next to the hab block's entrance hatch took them up to the top. The flat roof was cratered and fallen through in several places, but Sarthis's men had enough room to set up on the southern terrace. From here, they had an excellent vantage point to cover the Major's push and respond to enemy counterattacks.

Sarthis looked over the ruined city in terrified awe. Ahead of them, the city of Golgotha had given way to a sea of greenskins.

* * *

><p>The lead Chimera exploded in spectacular fireball. The Ork zapp gun had gone straight through the front of the vehicle and ignited the extra ammunition it was carrying. The rounds began to cook off inside before the hull split apart, sending bolter shells and autocannon rounds flying in every direction.<p>

Two 4th company guardsmen caught stray rounds from the blast and dropped dead instantly. Uther screamed for a corpsman to gather them. 4th and 2nd companies had pooled together for protection. They were following the up-gunned Chimeras along the street, engaging greenskins that had been forced out of their holes. 1st company was to their right, clearing out a two storey building, inch by bloody inch.

Ahead of them was a square marketplace. At the center, a crumbling statue of an old hero of the Imperium stood defiant in the face of the madness surrounding it. "Hunder, get up here!" shouted Uther. The grenadier lieutenant was followed by both the Daredevils and the Trench Skippers, now replenished with new recruits.

"That statue is our next goal, Hunder," said the captain, "Take the square and hold onto it like the Emperor himself ordered you to."

"Aye sir!" Lieutenant Hunder turned to the grenadiers. "You heard the man, let's move!"

Two Chimeras moved forward to provide heavy support for the grenadiers. The Daredevils and Trench Skippers fell in behind the transports for cover. Kippler peered around the tank through his weapon's scope. Ork weapon teams were set in behind the stone wall ringing the statue. Their twin linked machine guns sputtered and rattled as the Chimeras got into range.

The treaded vehicles returned fire, autocannon rounds chipping apart the stonework defense. Hunder broke out from cover, leading his two squads behind him. They went in fast and hard, each team covering the other, just as they had at Luesan Canal. The machine gun team, Garrett and Serrt, rushed for the collapsed building to their right, setting up their heavy stubber in the rubble. Once in place, they added their suppressing fire to the Chimera's support.

Kippler moved like the wind. Even running, he was a great marksman. One, two, three greenskins fell with clean shots to their heads. A fourth took a hotshot round to the neck, and he crumpled, gargling flash boiled blood that filled his toothy maw.

When they reached the square, Kippler pulled the Daredevils left to clear their flanks. Before they could round the corner, however, a flurry of rockets swished past them. Three projectiles hit the flat side of one of the Chimeras. The crew compartment blew open in a swirling fireball. Kippler could hear the men inside screaming. The Daredevils spotted the tankbusters and laid down a withering hail of hellgun and hotshot fire, not stopping until the greenskins stopped quivering.

Lieutenant Hunder and Ennis's Trench Skippers took the square in a swift bayonet charge. Corporal Ortann had leapt over the low wall and come crashing down on the Ork gunner. His bayonet sank into the monster's flesh, and Ortann blasted away at point blank with his hellgun. The next second, his head was lopped off by the Nob leader's chainaxe. Ennis personally avenged Ortann by slaying his killer, and a half dozen more Orks that came crawling out of the surrounding habs.

"Hunder, this is Kippler! Left flank secure!"

"Copy that, Soras. Pull your men back to the statue and dig in. We've got inbound hostiles."

A strange, pulsing whir called out over the firefight below. Flying above the battle, an Ork helicopter was closing in on the square. It's counter-rotors beat incessantly, and the pilot seemed like he was trying to sync up his gunfire with the rhythm, like some mad composer.

The Daredevils fell in just as the chopper dove on them. It made a screaming pass overhead, all guns firing, but the pilot somehow missed them. It did not, however, miss the last Chimera. The tank had seen the chopper coming, and had already prepped it's only hunter killer missile. Both vehicles fired their payload at the same time. The Chimera was reduced to scrap metal, and the chopper careened into the ground.

The grenadiers settled into firing positions. They were under attack from three sides by the greenskins. Garrett's hand was blown off and he fell away from the stubber, leaving Serrt to man it alone. Alek dropped down beside Kalan and swiftly wrapped a tight tourniquet around his bloody stump. He then stabbed Kalan with a heavy injection of painkillers.

Hunder checked the gunner over. "Can you still shoot with your other hand?" Garrett nodded, panting and fighting back pain. Hunder pulled out his laspistol sidearm and handed it to Garrett. "Make sure you don't miss, trooper."

Beryn Mathis took over feeding the stubber's ammo belts. The weapon was no heavy bolter, but it was lighter and still carried a hefty punch. Serrt gunned down the greenskins remorselessly. When he wasn't sour, he was hard as ice, especially under pressure. Corporal Mathis didn't like the man, but he couldn't help but respect him.

"Tendall, get on the vox to the Captain!" said Hunder. With their armor support gone, the Orks were encroaching on the square once again. They would run out of ammo before they ran out of targets. Kippler continued to make steady kills, but he was only one man.

More deffkopters were coming their way, as well as strange, five foot high tank-like contraptions. These small vehicles sputtered and belched black smoke, and looked like they would fall apart at any moment. But their guns worked, and they peppered the square with even more machine gun fire.

Alek pulled off the vox pack he wore and dialed in the company's command channel. "Captain Uther, this is Daredevil team! Square is under heavy fire, but we're still holding."

"I hear you, Daredevil team," came Uther's response. "Sit tight, we're nearly there."

* * *

><p>Helios Squadron, their missile payloads spent, continued to provide air cover for the assault. As the Imperial Guard pushed closer and closer to the Rok, the resistance intensified. The Orks were throwing everything they had into the fight. Davoss had also called in some disheartening news: thousands more Orks were flocking towards the Imperials from the eastern half of the island. The plan had worked too well; the Guardsmen in the west sector were facing the full might of the xenos forces.<p>

With the arriving Orks had come their air force. Despite the savaging both sides had taken, the greenskins could repair their junkers far quicker than the Imperials could their Thunderbolts. Add in the readily available supply of greenskins insane enough to pilot their death traps, and the numbers had quickly turned on the Navy planes. More than fifty fighters and dakkajets were racing towards Commander Tyrell's dozen MP-47s.

"All flights, fall in, diamond formation," he said. Tyrell's flight of three took the front lower position. Davoss's wingmen covered the top rear, and Wernor and Asnid's flights covered the left and right. The swarm of junkers was almost on top of them. "Full burn, boys. Clear the road and let them trail us."

The Thunderbolts hit their afterburners, leaving streaking contrails in their wake. Tyrell checked his autocannons. He had just under five hundred rounds left, more than enough to put down a few more fighters. Vox and auspex reports indicated that a friendly squadron was two minutes out and closing quickly. Helios just had to hold on long enough to be there when they arrived.

In less than thirty seconds, the two formations met. Tyrell greeted them with a volley of cannon fire, causing the dakkajets to veer to either side. One suicidal Ork stayed dead center however, more than willing to play chicken. Tyrell's guns chugged, and he banked right at the last second. His left wingtip was sheared off by the junker's guns, but he's gotten the bastard. Davoss confirmed the wreck was aflame and falling fast.

Tyrell's wingmen were gone. They hadn't been so lucky, and the junkers had caught them. The commander nursed back the throttle a bit to compensate for his damaged wing. His aileron was shredded, severely hampering his ability to roll. He'd need to rely on the Thunderbolt's thrust vectored engines for tight maneuvers.

Davoss lost his left wingman, leaving only himself and Karcy. Two dakkajets had gotten on their tail, nipping at them with gunfire. "Karcy, Phantine Weave, now!" he shouted into his vox. Karcy acknowledged, and the two Thunderbolts initiated the maneuver.

The two MP-47s went into a shallow dive, picking up speed and weaving in and out of each other's flight paths. The dakkajets took the bait and went after Karcy's fighter. Veering inward from their third weave, Davoss kept his thumb on the trigger. His angle of attack was good. The moment Karcy passed his targeting reticle, Davoss opened up.

The two jets pursuing the second Thunderbolt flew right into his firing arc, getting shredded in the process. One was destroyed instantly, but the other limped on. Davoss pulled his '47 into a tight loop and came back down on the junker, finishing it off with a burst from his lascannons.

"Helios one, this is two. Where are you?" said Davoss, looking around. He couldn't see Tyrell's fighter anywhere. The two jet formations had dissolved into an aerial tumble, making tracking a target extremely difficult.

"Two, this is one," came Tyrell's voice. "I've taken a few hits and I'm drifting about two hundred meters below the furball, north-northeast."

Davoss spied the stricken bird. The damage was a lot worse than Tyrell could tell. "Sir, you've got shrapnel in your left engine's intake vent. It also looks like you're leaking coolant. How well can you fly?"

"Not well, left control surfaces are shot. Take over, Davoss, I'm a sitting duck up here. Just hold out until the rest of the fighter wing arrives."

"Are you gonna be alright, sir?" asked Davoss.

"Yeah, I'll try to pull her over friendly lines and then bail out. Good luck, boys. Make sure you stay alive so I can cover your tab later."

"Copy that, sir," said Davoss. And good luck to you too, sir.

Helios's sister squadron, Dauntless, arrived shortly. With a flurry of precise deflection shots, eight preoccupied junkers were shot down in as many seconds. The other ork fighters broke off, only to be chased down by the new arrivals.

Helios had taken a pounding. Only five fighters were left airborne by the end of the dogfight, and only two were undamaged. Davoss thanked Dauntless squadron's commander for the assist and pulled his remaining pilots back towards the airbase to repair and rearm. They would be going up again soon enough.

* * *

><p>There was a reason that most of the tankers in the Xenobane had aural augmetics. The noise of their cannons and the constant rumbling and clanking of their tanks left most deaf after a only a few battles. This fight would go down as one of the loudest. Whether it was the earth shattering blast of the Baneblades' casemate demolisher cannons, or the ear splitting shriek of gigantic Ork war beasts, no voice could be heard above the noise.<p>

And that was just the way McTavish liked it. _Kasr's Pride_ was on the warpath. At his order, Wesky depressed the foot trigger for the main gun. The Baneblade roared. The Squiggoth ahead of them had its head obliterated by the shell. The beast toppled over, crushing greenskins underneath its bulk before the gun carriage on its back burst into flames.

"Sunner, blow a hole in that sucker's belly," howled McTavish. He was loving this, being in the thick of battle. Sunner, the demolisher cannon gunner, lobbed a shell at the dead beast that blew it in half in a shower of blood, fat and scales.

The tank column passed through the grotesque passage McTavish had cleared. They were within spitting distance of the Rok, now looming above them, high as a skyscraper. _Hrud Stomper_ took point while _Kasr's Pride_ held back to unpack more ammunition and cover the rest of the column. McTavish took the time to look back at the ground they had gained.

A sea of shattered tanks, Imperial and Ork, lay in the wake of the Xenobane's assault. Two dozen looted vehicles had engaged the Cadians in a point blank engagement, causing massive casualties to both sides. McTavish counted at least ten Leman Russes knocked out, and every last greenskin clanker. He didn't even bother to try counting the footslogger casualties, he knew they were high.

Deffkopters whirred overhead, firing rockets and being a nuisance. The Cadians responded with their Hydra flak tanks and their rapid fire autocannons. Missile pod sentinel walkers added their firepower as well. The air was tinged with the stench of propellant. McTavish was thankful for his Baneblade's air filters.

Colonel Moran's voice flickered across the vox, ordering a halt to the advance. McTavish moaned, but he followed orders. _Kasr's Pride_ rolled up beside the other two super heavies and set itself in hull down position to avoid enemy fire. The tank commander popped open his cupola hatch and looked over to Moran's vehicle.

"Why are we stopping?" McTavish shouted to the colonel. "They're right there, let's finish them!"

"We hold here and wait for the infantry, commander," said Moran sternly. "They need to catch up."

McTavish looked back. They had outrun the grunts. The nearest Cadian platoons were nearly a kilometer behind them, still fighting their way through the ruins. McTavish banged the side of the turret. "What is the point of fighting in a tank if we have to wait for the bloody infantry all the time?"

"You know the answer, McTavish," scolded Moran. "Tanks support infantry. Infantry are the Imperial Guard's most vital resource. Without the other, neither armor nor infantry is truly effective."

"I can spout bullshit from the Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, too, you know," retorted McTavish, indignant.

Moran was growing tired of the commander's impatience. "I don't care if you can quote the Codex Astartes from memory, McTavish. We hold here and consolidate our gains. We'll be moving again soon enough. Until then, shut up."

* * *

><p>Connor pried her power sword out of the Nob's carcass. The commissar had misjudged her augmented strength, and the blade had gone straight through the greenskin and pinned itself in the wall behind it. She was still getting used to her new power, and she kept overexerting herself.<p>

Her three platoons finished mopping up the last of the Ork pack. With Whelm dead and Lonnis infirmed, it was up to Connor and lieutenant Cardan Pierce to lead the seventy or so guardsmen. They had slowly drifted westward as they picked over a collapsed power generating station, divided from Uther's advance by an impassable mountain of rubble. Their one remaining Chimera crept slowly down the street, far more cautious after the lead tank had struck a mine.

Elle looked up. The clear skies were crosshatched with jet contrails. Occasionally, there would be a bright flash of orange when a plane was shot down. Like the fight on the ground, the air battle above appeared to be growing in size with each passing minute. Organized Imperial formations collided with ragtag mobs of Xenos craft.

Captain Uther voxed the Commissar. "Elle, sitrep. Where are you?"

Pierce's adjutant, Andon, held up the data-slate charts for Connor. "We've just passed Generator Station Sigma-7. Cleared out around fifty greenskins."

"We've just taken a market square. Still lots of resistance up ahead, though. Can you assist?"

"Will do, where do you need us?"

"Look for the headless statue on your left, you can't miss it."

"Copy that, we're on our way."

* * *

><p>Uther wasn't sure how exactly the grenadiers had taken the square in the first place. By the time he had arrived with his platoon, the Daredevils and Trench Skippers were huddled behind the bullet riddled statue, facing down a dozen tankettes. Gretchin hanged off the side of the vehicles, firing pistols and throwing anything they could at the beleaguered soldiers. The Chimera escorts were smoking wrecks, disabled early in the fight.<p>

Corporal Gellry, 4th's sole plasma gunner and the bravest soul in the company, hefted his ancient weapon and aimed it at the tanks. Praying that the gun wouldn't explode in his hands, Gellry charged up the coils, now glowing an intense blue. The superheated bolt fired out and hit a grot tank, enveloping the vehicle in a furious corona of energy. Gellry breathed a sigh of relief at his fortune.

The guardsmen quickly realised that the tankettes were simply printed metal sheets strapped over a pair of tracks. Their lasguns fired right through the armored vehicles. Six troopers were hit by machine gun fire, but in as many minutes, the tankettes were knocked out. 4th company quickly spread out to cover the square.

Another Ork push was coming up the streets on the right, but before it reached Uther's group, a flurry of enfilading fire ripped into the greenskins. Commissar Connor charged out an adjoining street, leading her men in a bayonet charge. Uther's group in turn blasted away at the engaged Orks before they too met the mob in close quarters combat.

Hacking and slicing his way through the xenos, Uther found himself back to back against Connor. They shared a momentary glance before turning to their next opponents. Men and Orks fought each other with savage blows and point blank shots. Eventually, the Vendolanders' superior numbers won the day, and the Orks were killed to a man.

Breathing heavily, Uther shouted a roll call. Twenty casualties, nine of them dead, but 4th company was still intact. He ordered a detail to pull the wounded back to the aid station. The rest of the company would press onwards. The Rok towered above them, they were nearly there.

* * *

><p>After sixteen hours of unceasing combat, the Imperial Guard had reached their objective, the outskirts of the Ork fortress. Walls of rusted metal and the city's own ruined hab buildings were welded into a ramshackle curtain wall surrounding the Rok itself. The wasteland had given way to Ork habitats and shelters built out of the ruins of Golgotha.<p>

To the troopers marching through the streets, it appeared as a bizarre facsimile of an Imperial settlement if it had been drawn by an imaginative child. Workshops and homesteads jutted out of the wreckage at strange angles. Aluminum towers draped in yellow Ork banners marked every street corner. Small, unnamed Orkoid life forms skittered away at the Guard's approach. In just under two weeks, the heart of Luesan Island had become a fully adapted Ork ecosystem.

The cost had been staggering. Taking the brunt of the assault, the Cadians had suffered nearly three thousand casualties, and over half of their armor support. The Dyneemek Jaegers had all but been annihilated in the fierce fighting. Only the second advance by the 316th Maveron Division had prevented the right flank from totally collapsing.

The Vendolanders suffered nearly seven hundred casualties. Most of them came from 2nd battalion. 7th Company had been obliterated by a shock assault from a squadron of Ork deff dreads. Captain Caius and one hundred and seventy nine troopers were confirmed dead, with the rest listed as MIA. The other casualties were spread out amongst the regiment, a testament to the ferocious resistance the Ork horde had put up.

The Ork casualties numbered far higher. Over twelve thousand Orks and three hundred vehicles were confirmed killed or destroyed. The rest had fallen back to the Rok or Warboss Smashface's approaching army. Even as the sun set, Ork guns were already beginning to bombard the new Imperial positions before they could dig in.

There was no staying here, thought Major Lester as he walked among the troops. The attack had halted for the night, but it would start up again at first light. Until then, the Vendolanders rested when they could.

Well, most of them. Lester was collecting volunteers on Colonel Moran's suggestion. They needed to keep up the offensive through the night, so the Cadian command was organizing a number of night raids to probe the strength of the curtain wall. A direct assault without proper intelligence would be suicide, and it could throw back all the gains the Guard had made if it failed.

Most of the volunteers came from the grenadier platoons in each company. Sergeant Kippler, corporal Mathis and gunner Serrt from 4th company. Orask and Atlen from 2nd. Lieutenant Sarthis from 1st Company brought an entire platoon with him. 3rd Company offered six grenadiers from Warmaster squad .

The volunteers gathered at the forward command tent for their briefing. Major Lester stood to the side to allow Colonel Crassus to address the men. "I understand that this day has been a tough one, men. Your willingness to undertake this mission means a lot to me. I am proud to call you Vendolanders."

A murmur of approval rippled through the guardsmen. Crassus continued, "By dusk tomorrow, I want that Rok in ruins. We don't have much time before the enemy warboss arrives with his main force. Anything that can be done to expedite this fortress's collapse, I want it done. To accomplish this, Colonel Moran intends to cripple the Rok's defenses ahead of tomorrow's attack. That means breaching the curtain wall, disabling gun batteries, and diminishing the Ork's ability to fight back.

"Your mission will be twofold. Your priority is to breach the curtain wall and clear a path for the main force. Use any means possible, tube charges, det-tape, IEDS, anything. Your second objective will be to infiltrate the Rok itself. Get inside and cause as much damage as possible. I know it sounds like a suicide mission, but this could be the difference between a hundred dead men and a thousand. You won't be alone on this. The Cadians and the Maverons are also deploying teams to achieve similar ends."

Sarthis asked, "Where's out insertion point?"

Crassus pushed the chart over to let the team see. He pointed to a tunnel entrance. "Here," the colonel said, "this is your way in. You'll go under the wall and inside. The tunnel network goes directly under the wall and the Rok. A few well placed explosives should bring a whole section down."

Crassus stood upright, "Are there anymore questions?"

The was no response from the troopers. "Alright, then. Grab some shuteye, you move in two hours. Emperor protect you."

The Vendolanders chanted in unison, "The Emperor protects."


	33. Thundering 77s: The Rok

**The Rok**

Despite being cleared earlier that day, Orks had already moved back into the tunnel network. By the Vendoland raid team, Raider 2, entered the underground, the Orks had collapsed several sections to delay the Imperial advance. However, it also had the benefit of isolating enemy patrols, and with their updated charts, the guardsmen knew the tunnels better than the Orks did.

Raider 2 was one of three infiltration teams sent to disrupt the greenskin's defenses ahead of the main assault. Comprising thirty men drawn from volunteers in both the regular infantry and the grenadier platoons, their mission was to first break through the Ork's constructed curtain wall, and then cause as much damage to the Rok itself as they could. Each man carried a bag of satchel charges for their demolitions work.

Lieutenant Sarthis was the ranking officer, but it was the grenadiers in the group who were truly running the show. They took point, using their superior equipment and tactics to clear out the infestations effortlessly before the infantrymen could even react. Sarthis's platoon was left to haul the explosives they would use to collapse the curtain wall.

He didn't like it. Treig's death had left the lieutenant in command of 1st company, and damn it, he'd done his job well. The regular men respected him for his courage under pressure, but he barely got a nod out of his grenadier platoon. They were aloof, off in their own world.

Nobody said anything but it was clear there was a rift in the regiment between the grenadiers and the regular infantry. Sure, the grenadiers often pulled up exceptional troopers into their ranks, but those men changed after their time with the elite. The grenadiers were close knit groups with their own, strange customs, and they didn't mingle well with others.

There were exceptions, of course. Other commanders, like Lars Uther from 4th, were held in high regard by their grenadiers, and cooperated well with each other. But not Sarthis. He felt they treated him like a child, not to be taken seriously. This was the thanks he got for saving his company: dragging explosives behind a bunch of glory hounds.

The tunnel floors sloshed beneath their boots. Slush and water dribbled down through the cracks in the ceiling, and moisture hanged in the air.

Vox silence was being recognized by the raiders. They would be reliant on verbal and visual communication until the main assault began, in order to keep the greenskins from getting wise to the operation. One of the 4th grenadiers appeared out of the gloom. Half his face had been replaced with metal augmetics. "Sarge needs you up front, sir," said Serrt.

Sarthis handed his bag of satchel charges to corporal Goldemar. "Lead on, private," he told Serrt, emphasizing the last word. Serrt cocked his one remaining eyebrow but said nothing. The lieutenant couldn't tell what the man was thinking with his expressionless face.

The eleven grenadiers were on point up at the front of the group. They were well equipped with specialist gear; hellguns, krak grenades, breather masks and night vision goggles. Each soldier was encased in a full body carapace suit, offering far greater protection to the regular flak jackets worn by Sarthis's guardsmen.

Their senior NCO, sergeant Kippler, was on one knee, his long las aimed down the passage. "Light up ahead, sir," said the marksman, eye pressed to his scope. "Looks like a ceiling collapse, a hundred meters down the path. Could be our way up and in."

"I don't see anything," Sarthis said with a hint of annoyance.

Kippler tapped his long las. "Night vision scope, sir. I suggest taking a few men up to scout it out."

"Fine, as you wish, sergeant." Sarthis absently selected three grenadiers. "You, you, and you, go with the sergeant and see where that hole leads."

Kippler signaled to his team to move out. Sarthis had chosen Atlen, Marten, and Jask for the job. When they were out of earshot, Atlen commented, "CO doesn't sound too happy about your ideas, Kippler."

"He's just new to this, leave him be," said Jask. Jask was a heavyset grenadier from 1st company's Warmaster squad. He and Marten had served alongside Sarthis for years in the 1st. They'd stand up for the new officer if they had to.

The collapsed tunnel roof did indeed lead outside. A light dusting of snow had already settled on the rubble pile, and cold air gushed in, frosting over the walls of the steaming passage. Jask and Atlen propped Kippler up out of the hole, his head just passing the lip of the surface.

Kippler scanned around three hundred sixty degrees with his long las. The hole opened up into a small lot behind a shelter house. The yard was mercifully empty; the whole area had been extensively shelled and no Orks were in sight. More importantly, it was behind the curtain wall.

Kippler dropped back down. "Hold here," he told the grenadiers before turning back down the hall. A few minutes later, he returned with Sarthis and the lieutenant's aide, corporal Goldemar.

"The breach opens up in the Ork compound," said Kippler, pointing out the location on the officer's chart. "It looks like the tunnels to the right of here run right under the wall. We should set the charges there."

Sarthis reviewed the data-slate chart. "How long do we have before dawn, Goldemar?"

The corporal checked his chronometer. "Two hours, sir."

"Then set the charges for two and a half hours. That'll give the greenskins a surprise. Sergeant, can we get to the Rok from the yard without being detected?"

Kippler shrugged. "Hard to say, sir, I only got a short look. The area seems abandoned, but there's no way to be sure until we're topside. We might have to fight our way in."

"Shit," cursed Sarthis. "Well, the colonel did say this wouldn't be easy. Alright, one thing at a time. Let's set the charges now. Have your men watch this hole, sergeant."

* * *

><p>The infantry moved down the adjoining passages and set to work priming their explosives. Each man carried a satchel charge, and they planted them at specific points selected by their lieutenant. Sarthis wanted to prove to the grenadiers that he was as resourceful as they were. By focusing the explosives on the weakest points beneath the wall, they could save more charges for their strike on the Rok.<p>

Once the charges were all set and wired, Raider 2 set off for the breach. Quietly as possible, they one by one climbed out of the hole and into the yard. Sarthis left two men to guard the entrance in case they needed to double back.

He told the men, "Challenge is _Hammer_, respond with _Thunder._ Anything comes by without the phrase, you shoot to kill, got it?"

The Rok towered above them, over half a kilometer high. The great asteroid fragment was covered in scorch marks and blown open cavities where the basilisk shells had struck. Metal frameworks formed the skeleton of the Rok, supporting it where the greenskins had carved cavernous warrens into its core. Guns bristled across its surface, pounding into the night sky in anticipation of more bombing runs from the navy wings.

All around the great fortress, the orks had built a massive shantytown out of the destroyed district. Gas burning torches lit the narrow streets, and the area reeked of refuse and the xenos's own particular stench. Cobbled together towers creaked precipitously back and forth, the slightest push liable to knock them down. Everywhere, greenskins of all sizes milled about, fighting, drinking, preparing for the Guard's next attack.

Raider 2 moved carefully down a dark alley between two Ork Mek workshops. Sparks flashed through gaps in the corrugated walls. The troopers caught glimpses of the greenskins working inside. They were refurbishing damaged walkers with scraps recovered from the fighting. Even with wreckage, greenskins found new ways to maim and kill.

Everyone was tense. So far they had been able to avoid the greenskin patrols, but all it took was one person's carelessness to bring the entire horde down on them. They were in the heart of enemy territory now. The only way out was forward.

At the end of the alley, Kippler raised his hand for the group to halt. He unscrewed his long las scope and passed it up to Sarthis. "Up there, see it?" he said as Sarthis put the scope up to his eye.

Kippler pointed to the rok. Though it was several streets away from them, Sarthis could easily make out the gaping hole in the asteroid's side. It looked like an earthshaker round had blasted clean through the rok's crust. The outer edge had been hastily reinforced with a metal ring, and an ork slaver was urging on a work crew of gretchin to repair the damage. As Sarthis looked on, the greenskins were carefully raising a fearsome looking gun up the scaffolding.

"What do you reckon that is, sir?" asked Kippler.

"Looks like a new gun battery," said Sarthis, "They'll need an ammo feeder for it, which means that that hole must go pretty deep inside the rok."

"And that means it's a way inside," said Kippler.

Sarthis handed the scope back to the sergeant. "Bit out in the open, don't you think?"

"It's either that or trying the front door," Beryn Mathis said, behind them. "I'll bet that they run the ammo up from one main stockpile. There'd be munitions rails going all through the fortress. If we hit that, the whole thing might go up."

"I agree with Mathis and the Kippler, sir," Serrt said. "Unless you have another suggestion, of course, lieutenant."

Sarthis glowered. "I don't," he conceded bitterly. "I guess I have to leave this to you men."

Kippler had had enough of the lieutenant's attitude. "Lieutenant, with respect, shut up. I don't doubt your leadership as an infantry commander, but we are grenadiers. This sort of break and enter operation is what we're best at. I'm not trying to countermand you, but we're not going to make it out of here if you keep up this attitude."

The sergeant's words stung, but Sarthis knew he was right. He didn't have the right to tell the grenadiers how to do their job, and being bitter about it would only make things worse. Sarthis just didn't want to be a fifth wheel on the mission. "Fine, sergeant," he said reluctantly. "I defer to your experience in this matter."

"I'm not asking you to 'defer' to me, Sarthis. Just work with me, alright?"

"Fair enough," said the lieutenant. "What's our plan?"

"We'll have to do this quick," Kippler said. "It's three streets over, about a hundred and fifty meters, I reckon. In these tight streets, it's hard to say what sort of resistance we'll find before we get there.

"So, what do we do?" asked Rorison, one of Sarthis's platoon.

Kippler smiled half heartedly at the trooper. "Run like hell, and hope to the God-Emperor that the greenskins don't notice us?"

Sarthis found himself thinking back to earlier in the day, specifically, the fight through the hab block. "I've got an idea, sergeant. Take Goldemar and find a way to get on top of these buildings. He's fast on his feet and has good balance, he'll be useful to you. We need eyes above us. Find out what sort of resistance we can expect."

"Yes sir," said Kippler. He gestured to Goldemar to follow him. Quietly as they could, the two men climbed the wall of the machine shop. The orks inside didn't notice them over the sound of their repairs. The lean corporal reached the top first, and pulled Kippler up top and out of sight.

Sarthis set two men to each side of the alley to watch their backs and had everyone else wait in silence until his recon team returned. After ten painfully long minutes, Kippler and Goldemar returned.

"We should take the rooftops," Kippler said. "The streets ahead are covered in greenskins, there's no way we'd make it in on foot. Goldemar found us a pretty good path, if we go fast we shouldn't have much trouble."

"I'm not about to take chances, sergeant," said Sarthis. "Those towers we've seen, a bomb at the base of one would bring it down, do you think?"

"A good kick would do the same thing, sir."

"Then we'll knock one over and use the commotion to draw away the orks. Then we'll slip in."

Kippler was starting to like Sarthis's planning. A little tough love had made him put aside his resentfulness and start making proper decisions. "Should I pick the men for that, sir, or will you?" he asked.

"Rorison, LeDann, Lasker," listed Sarthis confidently. Those three knew their way around explosives better than anyone else in the platoon. "Knock a few planks loose, boys. Everyone, up the wall, we're on the clock."

* * *

><p>The gretchin in the watchtower didn't have time to scream before the rickety structure went up in flames. The tower crashed into the street, crushing greenskins underneath it, resulting in a new string of fights. While orks flocked towards the commotion, Raider 2 made their move on the rok. The work crew atop the scaffold never saw them coming over the rooftops.<p>

Kippler exploded the ork slaver's head with a high powered shot just as Sarthis's soldiers sprayed the gretchin workers with more fire, killing them all in seconds. Greenskins working inside the crack fled rather than face the furious hail of lasfire.

Wikks and Lasker hurried past Sarthis with a long ladder. While the rest of the infiltration team laid down suppressing fire on the orks below, they dropped the ladder over the gap between the shelter and the scaffold. With a length of rope wrapped around his arm, Goldemar skipped across the makeshift bridge two rungs at a time. When he reached the far side, he used the rope to secure the ladder, and Sarthis ordered the men across.

Returning from their demolition work, Rorison, Lasker and LeDann brought up the rear. Rorison had made it halfway across the ladder when a greenskin round took his leg off, and he tumbled over the side. LeDann was cut down before Lasker could pull him to safety, and he lay tangled on the rungs.

Sarthis looked back grimly at his two fallen troopers. He pushed Lasker, now shaking, past the ork gun and followed Raider 2 into the Rok.

* * *

><p>They were running out of time. The greenskins were alerted to the raiders' presence, and they were hunting the Imperials throughout the Rok. Gretchin were forced into the tunnel network to flush them out, and the troopers were constantly being harried by the small, desperate creatures. Ledras was dragged down kicking and screaming by the gretchins before they slit his throat. Other members of Raider 2 blasted the monsters away, but it was too late for their comrade.<p>

On point, Kippler was running blind. Ork ships followed no logic he could understand. Where a human might put a storage compartment, an Ork would use as a latrine. The layout of the Rok was a chaotic mess with no rhyme or reason. But still, he tried to build a map of the surroundings in his head. There were numerous side passages and ninety degree corners, perfect for ambushes from both groups. On the push, he was relentless, determined not to get boxed into a trap.

Raider 2 entered a large antechamber, from which dozens of other tunnels branched out. The Vendolanders swept the room with lasfire, killing a dozen grots, and then took a moment to catch their breath. Kippler settled down by the wall and hastily scribbled out a rough plan of the Rok. Everything he could remember, every turn, every junction, he marked on the wall.

"Everyone alright?" said Sarthis. A mumbled chorus replied yes. Sarthis stepped over to Kippler. "So, any idea where this ammo dump might be at, sergeant?"

"Well, it looks like we were following the feeder rails for some of the big guns for a while, but then we got pushed off onto this side run, sir. The tunnels to our right when we came into this room should let us double back and get us on course again."

Before Sarthis could respond, a series of explosions rippled through the ship, somewhere far above them. It must have been one of the other insertion teams. The lieutenant pulled Tenar over to use his vox pack "This is Raider 2, Vendoland team. Raider 1, is that you?"

There was a response. "Negative, this is Raider 3." The Maveron team. "What's your position, Raider 2?"

"We just heard your explosives go off above us," said Sarthis. "I'd say we're about two hundred feet below you. We're in some sort of junction room, narrow but tall. Sound familiar to you?"

"Roger, Raider 2. We just past there five minutes ago. Hold tight, we're on our way."

A few minutes later, and the Maveron team arrived. Six men blew the ceiling grates and fast roped down to the Vendolanders. They immediately fixed the ropes to the raiders to help pull them back up. Sarthis was the last one up the rope, and two men helped pull him up onto the rafter.

The Maverons were well drilled, but clearly inexperienced. Their silver and green armor had few scratch marks, and it still shined as brightly as the day it came off the assembly line. The officers in charge of the unit were all in their early twenties, with young, unblemished faces. In comparison, there were few Vendolanders left under the age of thirty, and fewer still who hadn't taken at least one injury in the line of duty.

Raider 3 did look like they'd taken a few hits, however. Only fourteen of the raid's original thirty members remained to greet the Vendolanders. A short, blonde haired man with a lieutenant's badge sewn on his sleeve shook Sarthis's hand. "Lieutenant Fanaar, 12th Lance, 311th Maveron Division."

"Collo Sarthis, 85th Vendoland. I'm hoping you've made more progress than we have."

"We hit the side of the Rok forty minutes ago," said Fanaar. "My men scaled the outside we blew our way in with shaped charges. Since then, we've been targeting their munitions dumps inside. They've got blisters full of explosives all over the Rok, sir."

Sarthis grinned, "It seems we think alike, lieutenant. We're after the same thing. Any chance of doing this stealthy is gone, let's stick together and hit them hard."

The two raid teams nodded in agreement. Kippler spoke up. "Fanaar, do your men know much about improvised explosives?"

The young officer shook his head. "Not really, sergeant. What's your plan?"

"I'll show you how to make some bundle charges," Kippler turned to the Vendolanders. "Same as the wall, plant them at weak points."

"You heard the sergeant," said Sarthis. "Anyone with demolitions skills, I want you showing the Maverons how it's done."

* * *

><p>Back in the main warrens, the guardsmen had to contend with the bigger Orks. Hordes of greenskins assaulted them at the base of a shallow ramp leading to the stockpile. Beryn Mathis slammed a half dozen shots into an Ork armed with a shotgun before it went down. The guardsmen continued to fall back up the ramp, keeping the Orks at arm's length, continuing to pour fire into the resilient xenos.<p>

Close quarters combat with the Orks tended to be brutal and one sided in favor of the greenskins. Even in the rare occasion that the guardsmen came out on top, the cost was usually high. Mathis dialed his hellgun up to full charge, sacrificing its rapid fire capability for raw stopping power. His next shot evaporated an Ork's head, leaving an ash covered stump.

The munitions dump was at the top of the ramp. Fanaar slammed his fist into the access panel. Dust billowed out of the rusting gears as the door slowly retracted into the ceiling. Bent over double, the Imperials bolted into the room. The Orks, heedless of the danger of firing around live ordnance, charged in after them.

The stockpile was vast. Shells ranging from 37mm anti-air rounds to enormous 250mm mortars were piled haphazardly up to the drafty ceiling. Orask caught his foot and tripped over a box of stick bombs. The grenades went tumbling, causing a small avalanche as they knocked over more cases, hitting the floor with a great clatter. The Orks followed the disturbance, roaring and whooping their unintelligible war chants.

The grenadiers from Warmaster squad held the narrow path between two mountains of ammunition, while Kippler was helping the Maverons set the charges. He looped a length of det-cord around the charge caps, and had the other troopers do the same. They dropped each belt into a crate of explosives and angled them inwards to direct the blast at the rest of the stockpile.

"Whatever you're doing, hurry up!" called Jask. The grenadier's hellgun was glowing white hot, firing on full auto at the oncoming greenskins. A bullet struck his shoulder pad, twisting Jask to the right. That was all the time it took for the Ork to get on top of him. The xenos brought its axe down on Jask, splitting his head down the middle. The Warmaster's corpse was pushed aside by the surging Orks.

Atlen and Serrt attached their bayonets and planted themselves in the narrow pathway, firing and stabbing at the Orks pushing up towards them. Sarthis and Fanaar's men frantically worked to finish wiring the last of the explosives.

"Done!" yelled Goldemar before jumping clear of the ammo stacks. Between the ticking time bomb and the doorway was an entire mob of Orks. Trapped on or between the crates, Raider 2 practiced their marksmanship, not daring to miss and set off the explosives early.

Kippler and Mathis had finished wiring their last bundle near the top of the pile, and they had a clear view of the exit. More greenskins continued to pour into the room. The bombs would go off before they ever made it out.

"We'll never make it out at this rate," muttered Mathis between shots.

Kippler noticed something out the corner of his eye. "What the hell are they doing?" he said aloud.

Fanaar's men had appropriated a crate of stick bombs and had hauled it over to the storeroom's far wall. Using the wiring technique Kippler had just taught them, the silver troopers strapped together bundles of the grenades and planted them along the bulkhead.

Just as the encroaching Orks were about to overrun the guardsmen's tenuous position, Fanaar's men set off their makeshift bomb. The explosion was directed outwards, blasting a gaping hole in the wall. Fanaar waved up to the men on the stacks. "Come on! This way, hurry!"

The Vendolanders obliged, hurrying down the piles of ammunition. The Maverons held off the Orks at the shattered bulkhead until Raider 2 was clear of the room. Without waiting to be followed, the Maverons and Vendolanders took off at a sprint, firing at any greenskin in their way.

* * *

><p>Inside the storeroom, the first bundle of explosives detonated just as the first of the pursuing Orks reached the blasted bulkhead. The grenade boxes began to cook off, in turn setting off a chain of explosions that collapsed even more crates, leading to further blasts. Like a building prepped for demolition, the mountains of ammunition slid into each other, adding more fuel to the inferno.<p>

The Orks were incinerated in the fire, and the entire Rok shook from the force of the blast. Already questionable support beams buckled under the concussive force. From outside, an entire section of the Rok crumbled and rained down on the greenskins at the base of the fortress.

* * *

><p>At dawn, the Imperial Guard renewed their assault. As their allies lacked armor support, the Cadians redeployed their super heavy tanks to aid the Vendoland and Maveron units. Once more the Baneblades would form the spearhead of the Imperial attack. A titanic explosion blew out of the Rok, halfway up its side, the results of the infiltrators' handiwork. As if to emphasize the successful operation, a half hour into the fight, a line of detonations rumbled under the guardsmen's feet, and entire sections of the curtain wall collapsed in on themselves. Reduced to rubble, the Imperial forces surged ahead.<p>

* * *

><p>To the east, the greenskin horde was on the move. Warboss Smashface rode at the forefront atop a yellow battle-wagon that crushed any boyz stupid enough to be in front of it. There was a big fight going on, and he intended to be the first one in it. His armor glistened in the early morning sun, and he impatiently tapped his huge war hammer against his meaty palm. The anticipation was killing him.<p>

Two weeks on this planet and he'd barely had a chance to really get stuck in. All that time wasted on the Rok in the lake had left him itching for a fight. The humans along the lakeside hadn't been sporting. Rather than meet him in battle, they fell back and fired on his boyz from afar. They had no taste for proper combat.

But this looked interesting. The big Rok that had landed in the center of the island was on fire, and there was the sound of guns and bombs and all sorts of exciting violence that echoed over the city, calling to him. These humans knew how to get his attention. So, his horde moved inland, eager to meet the humans for a good fight.

The Orks flocked to their leader, leaving the boring river behind. Hundreds, then thousands, surged westward. The stomping hooves of Squiggoths, the clanking deff-dreds and killa kans, and the trundling tanks all joined in with the glorious march of the green tide. The very ground shook with their approach. Only one word could fully encapsulate such a glorious and terrible sight.

"WAAAGH!"

* * *

><p>Raider 1, the Cadian infiltrators, made their presence known when three of the heavy guns dotting the Rok suddenly took aim at the Orks below. Manned by the Xenobane, they pounded away at the rear lines of the greenskin horde, killing dozens and scattering more. By the time the other guns turned to target the commandeered weapons, the guardsmen were long gone, leaving behind only a few carefully set charges.<p>

While the guns detonated, the Imperial forces on the ground took advantage of the other cannons and fired on them with extreme prejudice. Its north side stripped of defenses, the Rok stood defenceless to the assault. Only the Orks on the ground stood between the Imperial Guard and their prize.

Forward units charged headlong into the greenskin shantytown, supported by the Cadian armor. Trundling straight out of the machine shops and into battle, the Ork's ramshackle vehicles engaged the tanks in close combat. For the second day in a row, the Rogal Dorns punched far above their weight. While lacking in infantry support firepower, their capacity for destroying enemy vehicles allowed the following guardsmen and support tanks a clear path to the fortress.

Captain Uther found his company fighting alongside a lance of Maveron soldiers pressing through the crooked streets. Progress was slow, as 4th company took its time to thoroughly sweep each building and ensure no greenskins were left to cause trouble for the rear elements. He was dismayed to find that the Maverons' lacked the same experience with small unit tactics.

The Maveron Lance was formed of several companies, but that was as small as their organization went. Where Vendolanders encouraged initiative on all operational levels, the Maverons fought at the company level only, relying entirely on massed fire and numbers. The shantytown just did not offer the cumbersome formations any room to maneuver, and the guardsmen suffered enormous losses.

Not that it mattered much. This close to the Rok, the fighting was an utter grind, down to the very last greenskin and guardsman. Orks tore through the Imperials with vicious axes and chain weaponry, while the Vendolanders responded with pinpoint lasgun fire and copious amounts of explosives. Slowly, the Orks were being driven back, until the last remains of the Horde had their backs to the Rok itself. Against the massed guns of the Imperial Guard, it was as if they were lined up against a firing squad.

The guardsmen swept into the clearing around the Rok, swiftly taking up new positions and securing the area. In fifteen minutes time, the commanding officers began to arrive from the rear lines, drawing up with their staff to plan their next moves.

Major Lester hurried to the front to meet with the Maveron Lance commanders and Colonel Kirstel from the Dyneemek Jaegers. The Jaegers, despite the terrible losses they had taken, had admirably stayed on the frontline to support the attack. Moran and McTavish swung the Cadian tanks eastward to establish the new perimeter. The task of clearing out the Rok would fall to the infantry. Those Orks that had not fallen to the vicious Imperial assault had retreated inside.

While the company captains delegated their new tasks, Lester grabbed the vox horn from Yalen, Murtonn's temporary replacement. He keyed in the emergency vox channel he had set up for the infiltration team. Hopefully some were still alive. "Raider 2, this is command. Respond at your discretion."

A voice responded. "Command, Raider 2 here, private Akensi. Lieutenant Sarthis left Hembly and I to guard our way out. Hembly got hit when the fight came past us. I haven't been able to contact the Lt since they went inside."

"Where are you now, Akensi?"

"With a bunch of Cadians, sir. Trying to find the Vendoland lines."

"Head for the clearing around the Rok," Lester said. "We're going in after them, we'll get them out."

There was a pause. "With respect sir," Akensi said, "I'd like to go in as well."

"Get over here first and I'll put you in the first wave, private. I'm not leaving Raider 2 to its fate."

Lance Commander Navare looked at Lester critically. "The chances of them still being alive is slim, Major. This isn't the time to be sentimental."

Lester glared at the Maveron officer. "Would it be acceptable to let them die? Of course it is, by this point taking the Rok is assured. But I do not waste men, commander. If there is the slightest chance to get them out, I'll take it. Do you care nothing for your own men in there?"

Navare shrugged. "They understood the risk when they volunteered for the assignment. As did your men."

"That is because they trust me, Navare. And I intend to repay that trust."

The two stared coldly at each other while the other officers watched warily. Eventually, Lester took Yalen's vox again. "Companies Three, Four and Six, get up here and take this Rok." The major shot a nasty look at Navare. "Maveron troopers will provide support."

* * *

><p>Tyrell's parachute deposited him in the middle of one of the main boulevards crossing Luesan Island. In retrospect, he realized that he was lucky he hadn't been slammed into a building. The road was a wreck, broken and depressed by the treads of passing tanks. They weren't built to withstand the immense weight of the Imperial superheavies, now slugging it out with the Orks further south.<p>

The area appeared to be clear, but there were bodies everywhere, greenskin and human alike. It made Tyrell ill to look at. He was used to fighting at a distance, where the worst he would see was the occasional burning body as a cockpit cabin caught fire. This was a level of brutality that the pilot was not ready for. He bent over an abandoned car and retched at the smell.

When his stomach was empty, Tyrell steeled himself and got his bearings. The sensible thing was to head north towards the Imperial side of the canal. Temple Hill rose high in the background, lit up by the constant flashes from the artillery dotting the battlements. He gathered himself and set off along the ruined road. It was a long trek back to friendly lines.

He hadn't gone far before a line of jeeps whirred past him, honking their horns to get his attention. They were laden down with stretchers bearing wounded troopers back to the medical centers. One jeep pulled over beside Tyrell while the others sped past. A younger man in olive green armor and sporting a set of crude augmetic fingers sat in the passenger's seat. "Need a lift, pilot?" asked the trooper. He offered Tyrell his hand, "hop in the back, we'll get drop you off on the way."

Tyrell accepted his offer and dropped into the backseat. The private introduced himself as Alek Tendall. He didn't speak much to the pilot, focused intently on the wounded passengers. A medic, Tyrell realized. Still, he had to ask, "What's the situation like back there, private?"

"It's hell, sir," Alek said. "Word is there's a big force of greenskins heading that way now. This wounded train is going to get longer before the day's over."

* * *

><p>They were backed into a corner, just like Kippler had feared. The destruction of the munitions room had rattled the entire structure loose. The blast had strained the support struts and entire sections of corridors had simply disintegrated. Trying to keep ahead of the collapse, the Vendolanders and Maverons had finally run out of luck. Trapped in the large bay that housed the Rok's fighter complement, the guardsmen dug in and made their final stand.<p>

Dozens of orks poured into the room, some running for their aircraft, others intent on tearing the infiltrators to pieces. Planes shot out of the bay and into the open sky, now clear under a shining sun. Kippler, set up atop a pile of crates hastily erected by the Imperials, opened up on the greenskins. Ork after Ork fell to his precision shooting. He was running short on power cells, so he made every shot count.

Beside him, Beryn Mathis was hunkered down with Sarthis's troops. The lieutenant had taken a shot to the shin and was being tended to by the Maveron's medic. Mathis had taken command along with Marten, directing the men's fire. The corporal was quickly making a name for himself in Kippler's eyes. Of all the Daredevils' replacements, Mathis was the one he felt had integrated best to the team. He was the bridge connecting the discordant elements of the squad.

The deck rocked beneath their feet, throwing some men off balance. The center of the room appeared to sag. Metal struts groaned and squeaked. Something snapped. The room snapped in two like an elastic band with the tension released. Orks and guardsmen slid into the open maw, desperately clawing for a handhold. Kippler managed to wedge his hand between the floor's grates and halted his slide. Others weren't so lucky, and they tumbled, screaming to their deaths.

Serrt and Mathis clawed for anything to catch their fall, eventually grabbing onto the rim of a fighter's ski launch. Thinking quickly, Mathis shouted, "Rappel lines! Throw them across!" Serrt unspooled his line and threw it across to Beryn. He secured the rope and fixed his own, and then tested his weight. It held, so he eased himself off the floor and looked around.

Only twenty or so troopers from both teams had managed to hold on. Sarthis, miraculously, was one of them, his face a contortion of pain and exertion. Mathis called up to the guardsmen above, telling them to fix themselves to the grating. Soon, they were all secured. But they were still trapped.

Sarthis, mustering his strength and fighting his screaming leg, brought one arm up to his vox bead. No point in maintaining vox silence anymore. Hoarsely, he spoke, "To any Imperial Guard units able to assist, this is Raider 2. We require immediate extraction. I say again, this is Raider 2, come in, please... This is Raider 2..."

* * *

><p>Uther and Connor were side by side, fighting their way down the corridor. The commissar's power sword hummed and she sliced down a Nob twice her height. The tide of orks was beginning to ebb, but they were fighting tooth and nail for every inch of the asteroid. Uther snapped off a flurry of shots from his laspistol, bringing down another ork before it could set the guardsmen in its gun sights.<p>

"Gellry, up front!" barked Uther. The plasma gunner hurried up, leveling his weapon down the hall. "Cook the bastards."

Gellry winced and pulled the trigger, praying to avoid a misfire. The plasma gun's coils glowed blue and the bolt erupted from the barrel. The far end of the hall was consumed by a corona of white fire. The screaming remains of the ork pack were soon silenced by the rest of the company's lasguns. Pierce's platoon rushed ahead to secure the next junction.

Uther's vox began to blip. He fiddled with the bead to find the signal source. It was very weak, but he recognized it was a Vendoland code. "Assist...requi- ...to anyone out there... Raider 2 in need of extraction..."

Uther reacted immediately. He switched to the Daredevils' private channel. "Kippler, this is Uther, can you read me. We just picked up Sarthis's distress call."

"That's one way of putting it sir," came Kippler's reply. He sounded strained, out of breath.

"What is your position? We're inside the Rok."

"Upper hangar deck, sir. The floor gave out and I can see down about eight levels, you can't miss it."

"Understood, we're on our way," said Uther. While he was talking to Kippler, Connor, obviously listening into the conversation, was organizing the troopers into search teams.

"Word of warning, captain," Kippler added, "this whole section isn't structurally sound. The whole place could come down at any moment."

"I'll keep that in mind, sergeant. Hold tight."

* * *

><p>At the triage tents, Tyrell helped Alek unload the injured soldiers from the jeep. There were hundreds of wounded still waiting to be treated, and the air was filled with the iron tinge of blood and the smell of antiseptics. The medics came by checking the tags on the new arrivals and dividing them accordingly in terms of their wounds' severity. One medic stopped and looked over Tyrell, checking the side of his head. Tyrell hadn't even noticed he'd cut himself on his ejection.<p>

"Another pilot, huh?" said the medic. "We got one in earlier this morning. Came in with a couple of Vendolanders, looked like they'd been through hell. Anyways, you're fine, commander. You can wait around here if you want, but unless you're going to help I'll ask you to try and keep out of the way."

"The Vendolanders," Alek said, "Anyone I know?"

The medic shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know for sure. Check with Doctor Bleake's adjutant, he'll know."

Bleake's adjutant was a meek little man who jumped at the sight of Alek and Tyrell. He did, however, know exactly who they were looking for and where they had been settled. Tyrell thanked the adjutant, who responded with a jumpy salute. The adjutant ushered them to follow, and he lead the way.

As they passed through the field of tents, Alek asked Tyrell, "This pilot, it he somebody you know, sir?"

Tyrell shrugged. "It's possible. The _Aramatus _had deployed its atmospheric fighters to the ground before it disappeared. Meridian does have its own air force, but they haven't been having a good go of it. I'm hoping it's one of ours, no offence, adjutant."

The adjutant, a Meridian native, just waved it off. "It's not a problem, lieutenant. I know what it's like to look after one's own people. Throne knows Meridian's suffered enough, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else."

They arrived at a recovery tent, indistinguishable from the rest. The adjutant pulled back the entrance flap. "When we found them, they were pretty banged up. One had to go for surgery, lost a leg. Another for psychiatrics, but the other three weren't too badly off. A couple broken bones, but not much that couldn't be-"

The adjutant stopped short. The guardsman and the pilot stood staring at the patients lying on the cots like they'd both seen ghosts.


	34. Thundering 77s: The Green Fist of Gork

**The Green Fist of Gork**

Another ork fighter ripped free of its moorings and fell into the chasm in the hangar's center. It must have hit something flammable, since a massive plume of fire and smoke swooshed upwards. The backwash from the explosion washed over Kippler's back, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing.

The surviving guardsmen were slowly working their way up the sagging deck plates. A few men had already reached the top and had secured their rappel lines to help pull others up to safety. Goldemar was zipping back down the line towards Sarthis. With expert grace, he deftly attached the safety line to the wounded lieutenant, gave it two tugs. While Sarthis was lifted free, Goldemar descended further to repeat the process.

Mathis and Serrt went next, and then, finally, Kippler. Strong hands hauled the sergeant up and set him on his feet. There wasn't much room on the platform. The twenty survivors from both the Vendolanders and Maverons were crammed into the wrong corner with the doorway on the far side of the chasm. Fanaar hadn't made it, leaving the Maverons without a CO, and lieutenant Sarthis was barely holding together as it was.

Kippler decided he had to take charge. He tried the vox bead again, "Captain Uther? Captain, this is Kip. We're secure in the hangar and sitting tight. What's your eta?"

The response came quickly. "Copy that, sergeant. Be there in ten minutes."

Ten minutes came and went. On the far side of the chasm, the sound of lasfire rang out from the corridors. A human head popped into the hangar bay. "I found them!" the trooper yelled. Moments later, a dozen guardsmen hurried into the hangar, Uther and commissar Connor among them.

Kippler waved to the captain. "Mind giving us a hand, sir?"

"What did you have in mind, sergeant?" Uther called back.

"Some shaped charges, if you have any," Sarthis said, pulling himself to his feet with a great effort. "We can blow this wall and get out, but we used our bombs up blowing the greenskin's ammo cache."

Uther quickly ordered his troops to present their demolitions charges. One by one, each man dropped his det charges into a sack provided by sergeant Wellard. "Who here's got a good throwing arm?" asked Uther.

Tilson volunteered. The lanky corporal had been a semi-professional lob-ball player before the Founding. Tossing one of the det-charges from hand to hand, he tested its weight, and eyed the distance across the room. Winding up for a throw, he shouted out, "Catch!"

The explosives sailed across the chasm in a high, graceful arc. Tilson's aim had been dead on, and the bundle landed right in the middle of the infiltrators. Kippler gave a thumbs up to Captain Uther, and they began planting the shaped charges on the wall. When they were set, the twenty troopers huddled as far away from the bombs as they could. Kippler pressed the detonator.

The wall blew inwards with a loud thump, and the deck plates rattled beneath their feet. "Move, move, move!" Sarthis yelled. None of the guardsmen wanted to be on the platform any longer. No sooner had they bolted through the hole that the rickety plates collapsed into the fires below. But, for the moment, they were safe again, with Uther's 4th company hurrying up the corridor to meet them. Pats on the back and friendly gestures were exchanged briefly before both parties got back to the task at hand.

Clearing the Rok entirely took hours. It reminded Kippler of the sweep they did of Governor Derosa's palace during the Vandis ambush, almost two years before. Back when the Hounds of Vandis had been at their doorstep, and Meridian was at its breaking point. It had been tough then, and it was tough now. Despite the fact that the Imperium's grip on Meridian was stronger than it had ever been, the cost of maintaining that control was still doled out in guardsmen's lives.

Kippler pushed the thought from his mind. Things would never be that bad again if he could help it. Eventually, the last of the greenskins were either killed or driven into the underground. Rooting them out of those tunnels would take months, but the fortress asteroid was finally, undeniably in Imperial hands.

* * *

><p>A new frontline had been established just east of the Rok. Colonel Moran had formed up the Xenobane's long range guns along an overpass that ran north to south across Luesan Island. The road offered a wide field of fire for the tanks. Beneath the overpass, the Cadian infantry formed a layered defense that would funnel the greenskins into narrow paths, hopefully minimizing their numbers while allowing the Guard to bring their firepower to bear on the horde.<p>

Moran's command Baneblade, _Antonus Secundus_, took up position on the overpass's apex. _Kasr's Pride_ and _Hrud Stomper_ lurked nearby, hull down behind the road's rockcrete divider and waiting for the Orks. The forward scouts had called in the first signs of the Warboss's mob, and the Cadians now waited to take the xenos' charge.

They heard the Orks coming long before they saw them. A heavy, tribal chant foretold their arrival, followed by the clanking of their noisy war machines and the footfalls of thousands of xenos warriors. An hour after establishing the new line, the first waves struck Moran's forward units. The _Antonus Secundus's _heavy bolters opened up, joined by the demolisher mortar and finally the main cannon itself. Well placed and impervious to the orks' small arms, hundreds of enemy footsloggers were cut down by the Baneblade's arsenal. Moran only hoped, half-heartedly, that he would run out of targets before he did ammunition.

* * *

><p>This was the true fight, Smashface thought, the big one he'd been waiting for. The humans here were ready for them, all lined up nice and tidy, just waiting to be smashed. After the first wave of boys were mulched by gunfire, the Warboss's pent up aggression and anticipation finally got the best of him. He turned to face his best fighters, his Nob leaders, armed to the teeth with huge chopper blades and the flashiest guns they could cobble together. "I'm not waiting around fer anuvva minute, boyz!" He emphatically pointed his custom shoota at the Imperial line. "Dey wanted a fight, so let's give it to 'em! Show 'em da meaning of a WAAAGH!"<p>

A roaring cheer rippled through the nobz. Without hesitating, Smashface leapt from the top of his battle-wagon and began sprinting headlong towards the humans. A hundred nobz followed him, undeterred by the immense firepower of the Cadians. Blasting away with his shoota, Smashface slaughtered a half dozen guardsmen while winding up his hammer. The swing struck a captain in the chest and catapulted him thirty feet into the air before what was left of him splattered across the street.

The giant Ork felt the annoying sting of the humans' puny lasguns, and then the more painful jabs of bolter shells exploding bits of his armor. But still, his charge continued. Any man who faced the warboss died. It was paradise punctuated with pure bloodshed. Smashface finally felt like an Ork, and gave in fully to his lust for battle.

Ahead lay a hastily yet well made sandbag line, where a full company of Xenobane were throwing everything they had at the charging orks. While they made an admirable effort to slow the warboss, the company was swept away in mere moments when the nobz struck home. A gap had formed in the Imperial emplacements, and the orks swarmed through the first defense layer.

* * *

><p>"What the hell is that?" cried the gunner of the Leman Russ <em>Orphan Maker<em>. Nobody had time to respond before the entire turret was ripped off, taking half of the gunner with it. Reeling in shock, tank commander Galbraith's last sight was a spiked hammer swinging through the hole towards his face. Smashface peered into the turretless vehicle and thrust his meaty green arm inside, grasping for any survivors.

The driver panicked, and put the tank into a hard reverse. The Leman Russ was famous for its ability to reverse on a dime, and the sudden motion jerked the enormous greenskin off the top of the vehicle. Through the driver's slit, he could see the xeno collect itself and roar at the tank. Orks all around the Russ began smashing into its sides with hammers and rockets, tearing great holes in the thick armor. Before the driver could escape, a veritable rain of stick grenades poured through the open top and incinerated himself and the vox operator in a white flash.

* * *

><p>From his cupola, colonel Moran watched in horror as the left flank of the Xenobane was bowled over by the leading edge of the horde. The largest, a howling brute with a vicious hammer, was at the fore, crushing the spirited Cadian resistance. Moran knew exactly who it was the moment he laid eyes on the figure. As if sensing the colonel, the giant ork looked to his left, and their gazes met.<p>

Warboss Smashface. The ork's personal mob of nob warriors finished ripping the tank squadron to shreds, leaving a carnage filled street behind them as they ran off in search of more targets. Moran dropped back inside the _Antonis Secundus_ and grabbed the vox horn. "McTavish, redeploy six Russes to my position. We've sighted the warboss and we are moving to intercept."

"Copy that, colonel. Take his head for me."

"Will do, commander," Moran said, before switching to his internal channel, "Engineseer, how is the vehicle holding together?"

One compartment below, in the _Secundus's_ bowels, Engineseer Iratus responded with his typically nasal voice. "The machine spirit is agitated, but stable, colonel. I may be able to coax a heightened performance output should I convince it of your intentions."

"So long as it is satisfied, tech-priest, I will be." The Baneblade's engine revved, belching smoke from the twin exhaust stacks rear of the turret ring. The power of the machine was almost palpable in the air. Moran felt invigorated, his blood pumping as he readied himself.

Moran ordered the Baneblade northwards where the orks had broken the line. Escorted by two Rogal Dorns, the _Secundus_ raced along the overpass, all three hundred and fifty tonnes churning up the rockcrete surface in its wake. The broken Xenobane infantry rallied to their ancient war relic, forming a phalanx that advanced upon the orks.

They moved down the overpass with astonishing speed for such a heavy vehicle and the force fanned out onto street level. The _Secundus's _sponson guns spewed torrents of bolter downrange, taunting the enemy leader and killing several of his retinue. The show of force was a challenge to the pride driven nobz, one they readily accepted. The narrow wedge of orks that had thrust through the Imperial line reeled south, heading straight for the _Antonis_ _Secundus_.

* * *

><p>On the north bank of the canal, several miles eastwards, the battered remnants of the 31st Artemian regiment were finalizing their preparations for their part in the attack. Following General Derim's disgrace, command of the 6th Urban Brigade had fallen to Colonel Orias Nolt. With the ork horde fully engaged on the island, it was now time for the Artemians to play their role, and for Nolt to regain their lost honor. Three thousand troopers, all mounted in Chimeras with as much armor support as Nolt could muster, drove full tilt across the canal and into territory given up days before.<p>

Flanked by sentinel walkers from the Kydoran Outriders, the advance was quick and decisive. Straggling orks were cut down by the unrelenting Artemians, exacting their vengeance on the foul monsters. Territory relinquished after days of grinding combat was reclaimed in minutes. Nolt was proud of his men and women, facing down such odds and coming out the victors.

Perhaps that was premature, he thought. Though not one to celebrate another regiment's successes, Nolt grudgingly admitted to himself, privately, of course, that this redemption was only possible due to the Cadians' canny understanding and manipulation of ork tactics. Offering themselves up as a target for the orks had been a risky move, but one that had paid off immensely. Now that the trap had been sprung, the Artemians would be the tip hammer that struck upon the anvil.

* * *

><p>Crassus himself led the Vendoland reinforcements to bolster the Xenobane. The Cadians were under heavy assault, weathering the main push of the orks alone. Ertrand Crassus would draw his weapons for the first time in the campaign, a storm bolter strapped to a pair of lightning claw gauntlets, crackling with energy. Fighting alongside elements of Lester's first battalion, the colonel hurried to plug the hole in the Xenobane's defenses.<p>

The area was a bloodbath. Still rattled by the shock assault from the Warboss and his Nobz, a gaping salient had been pushed into the Imperial lines, and hundreds of greenskins poured into the breach with each passing moment. Firing off a spurt of bolter rounds, Crassus extended his claws with a metallic _shunk _and threw himself into the fray. Backed by several veteran sergeants, armed with chainsword and bayonet, the colonel's command squad fought in savage close combat with the greenskins. Crassus swung his claws up to meet a falling axe. The ork's weapon was sliced in half by the blades, and Crassus finished the xenos off with a stab through its throat. Lester covered his friend, sputtering bolter fire at the rushing orks before Crassus's retinue absorbed him into their ranks.

All around, the Vendolanders fought back against the green tide. Bodies from both sides began to pile high as the fight dragged on. This wasn't a battle, this was a slaughter, Crassus realized. The orks were too many, and the streets too narrow; despite the Guard's best efforts, the sheer number of greenskins throwing themselves at the line were slowly tipping the balance against the Imperials.

The grinding street fight continued to grow. Finally, about five heavy weapons teams managed to set up in the skeleton of a burnt out hab shelter. The enfilading fire tore into the sides of the greenskins, ripping apart the mob and forcing more back the way they came. Suddenly surrounded on three sides, the orks found themselves at the mercy of Imperial lasguns. The air was tinged with the strong smell of ozone from the ferocity of the guardsmen's weapons discharge.

"Forward men!" urged Crassus. "For Vendoland, for the Xenobane, and for Meridian!"

* * *

><p>Ripping apart smaller tanks was fun, but Smashface saw the Baneblade as a challenge worthy of his skill. The tank's guns tore up the ground in front of him, but Smashface burst through the choking clouds of dust and leapt onto the great machine's hull. Humans beside the tank started to fire up at him, but the Warboss cut them down with a sweep of his shoota. He proceeded to swing his hammer repeatedly into the thick armor, trying to pry open the Baneblade like a can.<p>

Inside, Moran's forward gunner Eidran grew increasingly agitated. "What do we do, sir?" he cried over the internal vox. What could they do? Eidran's demolisher cannon couldn't exactly fire backwards, and the bolter gunners were reporting the ork was avoiding their firing arcs.

Back in the main turret, Moran calmly loaded a hotshot pack into his hellpistol and switched off the safety. The charge indicator turned green to show the gun was live. "We keep fighting, Kam. That green bastard is out there and you are in here. Keep firing, and let me deal with the Warboss."

Farris, his vox operator, looked up at the colonel like he'd gone mad. "Are you serious?" he said, incredulous. "He'll tear you apart, sir!"

Moran shot an admonishing look back at Farris. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Farris. And I'm not going out there alone. You're coming with me." Moran spoke over the tank's vox. "Driver Talt, hold this position. Iratus?"

"Yes, colonel?" replied the techpriest.

"I leave you in command of the _Antonis Secundus. _Anyone not in the forward compartment, arm yourselves and prepare to go topside."

* * *

><p>Armed with shortened Voss pattern lasguns, the rear compartment crew of the <em>Antonis Secundus<em> steeled themselves, waiting for colonel Moran's signal. They could hear the Warboss outside, banging away at the Baneblade with his huge hammer. But the 'blade's armor was much thicker than a Russ, and the structure held. That didn't stop the noise from rattling the crew, however.

Including himself, Moran had six of the tank's ten crew members ready to fight. Engineseer Iratus, overseeing the Tac-Center in Raynis's stead, would stay behind, but every other guardsman would take the fight to the Warboss, and make him sorry he ever set foot in the subsector. All that they needed was the colonel's order.

One hand on the turret hatch, the other gripping his hellpistol, Moran roared over the vox. "Now, Xenobane! Death to the enemies of Man!" A roar went up through the _Antonis Secundus_ as the hatches were thrown open. Moran climbed out and was met with a blast of the harsh winter cold. From the sponson turrets, the other guardsmen did the same, and they set their guns on the Warboss trying to smash his way inside.

Rather than look surprised, warboss Smashface seemed pleased at the guardsmen's bold move. The crew of the _Secundus_ opened fire. Moran leveled his hellpistol at the ork and began blasting away. But though the hotshot rounds punched right through the beast's armor, Smashface just laughed, as if he enjoyed the pain. A spurt of fire from the warboss's gun exploded Farris's head, as it to emphasize how little their resistance meant to him.

"I swearz, you humies are da only good fight I've had since I got 'ere," Smashface growled, that cruel smile still etched across his ugly face. He leered at Moran, obviously recognizing him as the one in charge. "You dere, come and give ole' Smashface a good scrap, why don't ya? It'll be fun!"

"The only thing I shall give you is the Emperor's mercy, xeno," said Moran, unloading the rest of his magazine into the ork. Pulling himself out of the turret completely, Moran drew and activated his power sabre. "This ends here, ork. Men, leave the warboss to me. Deal with the rest of this filth."

The gunners shared a confused look, but they followed the colonel's command, turning their rifles on the multitude of enemy targets surrounding them. The orks, for their part, seemed to be avoiding interfering with the warboss's fight, either out of respect or fear.

Standing atop the hull of the _Antonis Secundus, _Raynis Moran prepared to face down Warboss Smashface in single combat. He realized how stupid this idea was, and that he was giving the greenskin exactly what it wanted. Raynis just didn't care. And every moment Smashface was focused on the colonel was a moment the Imperial forces had to rally and drive back the horde.

Moran held his sabre in front of him, angled down and inwards to cover his front. Years of experience had taught the cadian how orks fought. Wide swings and aggressive pushes meant that Raynis would have to rely on speed and footwork to avoid the xenos's blows. He'd have to dip inside the warboss's reach and strike quickly.

Smashface made the first move. The warboss swung its hammer in an uppercut that Raynis sidestepped before bringing it back down in a brutal motion that actually managed to dent the tank's armor somewhat. The colonel was already moving by the time that Smashface hefted its weapon back up. He darted around to the left, thrusting in at the greenskin's neck. Smashface brought its arm up to deflect the attack at the last minute. Moran's blade arced with energy, but the warboss had struck the flat side of the blade and pushed it aside. Had the edge caught the ork's arm, it would have sliced through effortlessly.

The warboss landed a meaty fist on Moran, knocking his tanker helmet free and throwing the colonel off his feet. An armored boot came flying towards his face, and Moran barely rolled away in time. His power sword bit into the greenskin's leg, spraying steaming alien blood over the tank. Smashface roared with pain, blasting at Moran with his custom shoota. Red with anger, the warboss couldn't see its foe.

The sabre came in from Smashface's left, slicing the custom shoota in half. Smashface looked at the broken weapon and then to Moran. He threw the piece of junk at the human out of frustration. The opponents traded blow after blow. Raynis was the faster, but the warboss controlled the fight with its immense size. But the ork was still surprisingly quick. It took the colonel everything he had to get through his foe's guard, and he barely managed to keep ahead of the swinging hammer.

Raynis finally found an opening. Smashface, in a fit of anger, had swung the hammer too hard, and it lodged itself in the gap between the Baneblade's main cannon and the coaxial autocannon. While the ork worked to pry his hammer out, Raynis managed to get behind the ork. Putting his strength into a two handed thrust, his power sabre jammed into Smashface's ribs. Armor buckled under the blade's energy field, and Smashface howled once again. This time, however, it was quicker, and the ork's hammer shaft came jabbing backwards. Moran felt like he'd been kicked by an angry equine, his breath knocked out of him. He lost his grip on the sabre, which was left embedded in the warboss's thick flesh.

The colonel fell hard. A rib had definitely broken, and his chest was in flames. His sword was gone, and the giant was bearing down on him, an almost manic look in its beady red eyes. Throne, the greenskin was enjoying this. Moran thought quickly, Smashface was almost on top of him. Lying on his side, he keyed his vox bead, trying to cover it from the ork's gaze. "Iratus," he shouted, "full forward, now!"

_Antonis Secundus_ suddenly lurched forward. Smashface was knocked off balance by the jerking tank, almost losing his footing. Fighting the pain in his side, Moran rose to his feet. The charge indicator was still green. Full power. Smashface was winding up for another swing of its hammer.

"I win, ork." His hellpistol pointed at the warboss's head, Raynis Moran fired.

The full powered shot took the right half of Smashface's head off, skull fragments and green flesh exploding outwards. The sinews of the ork's mouth were pulled back and snapped, one by one, until its jaw lolled back and forth, lacerated from its hinge. But the damn thing still wasn't dead, Moran realized. His frustration was short lived, as the warboss's hammer smashed into his side. Moran felt his ribs crush inwards, and he was thrown off the tank by the force of the blow.

* * *

><p>Smashface coughed up a fountain of blood. His vision was red, in his one remaining eye. The damn human was gone, preferably dead. The others, watching from their turrets, didn't know what to do with the stricken ork, and he couldn't find his hammer to hit them with. His sight grew dark and hazy. The world was spinning around him. Blood flowed from his ruined face. It was completely smashed, and it would take a while for the mad doks to fix him back up.<p>

Realizing the irony of his situation, Smashface coughed out a bloody laugh, and collapsed over the side of the _Antonis Secundus._

* * *

><p>The 31st Artemians crashed into the rear lines of the warboss's horde. The chimeras ground to a halt and disgorged three thousand blue-gray armored guardsmen into the unsuspecting orks. Fighting with a newfound ferocity, and with their guns on full auto, they swept the streets with lasfire and bolter rounds. Heavy tanks bombarded the greenskin armor, wrecking killa kans, deff dreds and looted tanks with precision anti-tank shells. Hiding behind a demolished tempelum, the supporting Kydoran sentinels, armed with missile pods, rained indirect fire down on the xenos.<p>

And they were only at the forefront. A massive Imperial counter push had surged onto Luesan Island, nearly sixty thousand troopers from almost a dozen regiments. Fully committed to the attack against the Cadian led west sector, the orks were unprepared for an attack from both sides. Like had happened just days earlier, Imperial pincer manoeuvring had cut off the orks' lane of retreat, only on a much larger scale.

As pockets of orks were isolated and crushed, the main horde had started to falter. At that moment, the artillery batteries across Temple Hill commenced their barrage. With a commanding view of the island and precision targeting via spotters, the basilisk guns brought the Emperor's holy wrath to bear against the greenskins that would dare defile his worlds.

* * *

><p>"They're pulling back!" someone called. Crassus saw the orks begin to retreat. There had been word over the vox that colonel Moran had slain the warboss. Whether it was true or not, there was no denying that the orks had begun to waver soon after. Concentrated fire from the Vendoland and Cadian regiments picked off the stragglers.<p>

"Men of Vendoland, advance and run them down!" Crassus yelled. A cheer rose from the weary soldiers as they climbed out from their cover and put the orks into full flight.

* * *

><p>Everywhere the Nob turned, it seemed there were more humans. Their puny lasers didn't have the satisfying krump of a good shoota, but there were just so many of them zapping away at the boys. Orks would head west and run into tanks, they'd go east and hit more tanks. Moving north meant the humans could blow them up with their big hill guns. The only way out was south.<p>

The Nob was about the only authority left among the orks. Warboss Smashface was nowhere to be found, and the boys were yapping that his head had been blown off. Without him pushing everyone around, the clans were back to scrapping with each other, at the worst possible moment. The Nob was fighting south as hard as he could, bringing as many boys as he could bully along the way.

"Come on, ya runts! It's not a retreat, we'z just gonna come back and fight again later! Do as I says, otherwise you'z gettin' yer faces smashed by da boss!" The Nob realized something, and added, "which is me! Dat's right, I'm smashin' faces now, get movin'!"

Maybe it was because the boys around the Nob were dumber than a sack of grotz, or maybe he just believed it enough to be true. Maybe it was both. Whatever the reason, the orks not being run down by the angry humans flocked towards 'Smashface' on the push south. Knocking aside boys dumb enough to get in his way, Nob Smashface made a run for it. It took the fleeing horde an hour to cross the island, harried the whole way by the Imperial Guard.

The sun had broken the clouds, casting golden rays across the few buildings not wrecked in the fighting. Eventually, the orks reached the south side, again separated from the rest of Golgotha Spire by the wide Luesan Canal. A single bridge spanned the waterway. It shined in the sunlight, glistening and metallic. "Over da bridge, boyz!" Nob Smashface urged, "dey won't follow us, cuz they know dat shiny bridges is good luck fer orks!"

Nob Smashface was amazed to find that, the more the Orks believed the nonsense he was shouting, the more he believed it himself. It made sense after all. The bridge was shiny, it had to be good luck, right? With one last look back at their pursuers, the orks raced across the bridge, carrying away as much loot as they could haul, and disappearing into the far southern habs of Golgotha.

Luesan Island had been reclaimed by the Imperium.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I hope you liked the climax. The next chapter will end the Thundering 77s, and then I'm onto the next one.<p> 


	35. Thundering 77s: Promises

**Promises**

Four days passed. In Golgotha West, the Cadian, Vendoland and Dyneemek regiments were finally pulled from frontline service after weeks of heavy fighting. As new regiments moved in to occupy Luesan Island and continue the push south in the orks' wake, the bloodied veterans retired to Temple Hill.

Imperial tacticians projected that fighting would continue for months, and even then, there was little hope of ever truly ridding the spire of the xenos infestation. Hundreds of orks had gone to ground in the undercity, but the bulk of the horde had fled the center and occupied the southern hab districts. It seemed early reports of the warboss's demise had been misleading; Smashface was still active, and his considerable horde still numbered nearly a hundred thousand. Imperial troops were preparing for another push in the coming days.

The Green Winter, some guardsmen were calling it. Merrick laughed humorlessly at that. It wasn't all bad, however. The greenskin air power had been decimated over Luesan, giving the Imperials control of the skies. Less fortunate, though, was the lack of supplies. The orks had stolen everything they couldn't destroy, and had made off with vast stores of munitions and foodstuffs from Golgotha's warehouses.

Back amongst the troopers of 4th company, it was apparent Merrick had a lot of catching up to do. Every guardsmen he met had a story to tell the wayward sergeant major. Many old faces had been replaced by new soldiers from the merger, and Merrick had to get their names all down. But first, he had some more personal business to attend to.

He stopped in front of an old, wood furnished building, halfway up Temple Hill. Merrick opened the door to the gambling hall and let himself in from the cold. The interior was dark and heavy with cigar and lho-stick smoke. Exchanging words with the proprietor, he was directed to the back rooms. Finding the right one, he poked his head inside. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

The big man with the beard, Beryn Mathis, looked up from his game of Regicide and grinned. "Not at all, sergeant major. Alek here was just about to pay up, weren't you, Alek?"

Alek rubbed his fingers together, making a metallic grating noise as he did. He looked over the board, heavily concentrating. Mathis pressed him. "Come on, Tendall, admit it, it's over. Now be a good lad and hand the Thrones over."

Without so much as a word, Alek made one move, and gave Mathis an evil smile. Only then did he speak "King's head, Mathis."

Mathis looked down at the board, shocked. But there it was, his commander piece outflanked. "How did you..."

"Pincer movement. I didn't think you'd fall for it. Pay up."

Mathis looked up at Merrick, laughing in the doorway. "How did he do that?"

"You tell me, corporal," Merrick said, still chuckling at his new squad member's misfortune. Mathis grumbled and pulled out a pocketful of coins, handing them to Alek. Merrick walked past them just as Alek accused Mathis of shorting him a few Thrones. The sergeant major decided they could work it out themselves.

At the far end of the room, Merrick found Hurst sitting with the Daredevils' other new troopers. How quickly things changed while Merrick and Hurst had been away. The two men sitting with Hurst were apparently called Lannik and Serrt. Mol Lannik was a small, weasel faced man, while Serrt was covered in crude augmetics across his bald head. He nodded to Merrick as he saw him approach.

"Now, I understand that Kippler was in charge, correct?" said Hurst.

Merrick eased himself into a reclining chair next to Lannik. "Are you worried Soras is gunning for your job, Waddy?" he said, grinning.

Hurst pit his hands up defensively. "I just want to know how Kippler handled things, Ger. Now that I've got the squad back, I need to know if there's any changes I should implement."

"Well, he seemed like a good sort," Lannik said, "before I got hit that is. Only really served under him when we took Southgate Bridge. He was pulling marksman duty when I got shot."

"He did alright," concurred Serrt, "He knows how to run a squad, and he's got eyes better than this augmetic. I do think he leads from the front a bit too much, though. The man's a marksman and a tracker at heart."

Hurst thought about this, nodding to himself. "That certainly does sound like him. If it's alright with both of you, I'd like to put Daredevil through its paces when I get the chance. Some good close order drilling. It will help me get a feel of where everyone is at and what we can do to improve."

Serrt shrugged. "It's your show, sergeant Hurst."

Lannik and Serrt got up to leave, saying they were going to visit Garrett in the infirmary. He'd lost his hand the other day and it would be a while before the 85th's supply officer could get some fresh augmetics. Merrick waited until they had left, and made sure nobody else was in earshot. Hurst looked at him expectantly.

"So," Hurst started, "what's the situation with Vornas?" The nasty business between Vornas and Connor was already well known throughout 4th company, but Merrick, being the company's senior non-com, didn't want the word to spread further than it had to.

Merrick sighed. "It's not as bad as I'd thought, but in this case, that's like saying getting shot in the arm isn't as bad as the leg. The good news is, Vornas is not going to be executed for murder. In fact, Connor isn't pressing anything against him."

"There's a large 'but' in there, somewhere, right?" Hurst said, his hopes already fading.

"There is. Connor's staying out of it, so Vornas's punishment falls to Uther, and he isn't happy one bit. Vornas has been reassigned to RIP detail until Uther deems him fit to return to the company."

"God-Emperor, _if_ he returns to the company," said Hurst. RIP, Retraining, Indoctrination and Punishment, was where broken troopers still considered salvageable were sent. They were ad-hoc units, frequently given hazardous assignments, with the reasoning that if they succeeded, they could be deemed useful and then reintegrated into their former units. And if they died, then they had at least made a contribution doing so.

RIP details had more in common with penal battalions than proper military units. Commissar Ornoff was in charge of the 85th's RIP detail, and there were few people in the regiment you would rather avoid than that psychopath. If Vornas had been reassigned to him, there was little chance that Daredevil squad would see him again.

"And there's another thing, Wadden," Merrick said quietly. He leaned back in the recliner, resting his hands on his legs. "I'm not going to be around as much. Uther wants me to be more hands on with the rest of the company, given what they've just gone through. The men need a strong figure to rally around and be inspired by, not just officers."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, Uther figures between you and Kippler, Daredevil is in good hands," said Merrick. "He's right, you know, Hurst. I have been lax in my duties lately. I've always felt that Daredevil was my, sorry, our, own little project. But the rest of the company needs me as well, and I can't let them down."

Hurst gave a little shrug and sighed. "Well, the squad will still be there, Gerard. Uther hasn't taken us from you," Wadden smiled, "He's just giving you a break from us for a time."

That cheered Merrick up a bit. "That's a good way to look at it, Waddy. It'll be nice not to have to listen to Remer for a while. Speaking of which, have you seen him yet?"

"I saw him for a moment the other day. He's still recovering, Merrick. I hope he'll be alright. The others were just glad he's alive."

"True," Merrick said, "But then, we never had to spend weeks thinking he was dead."

* * *

><p>Connor was walking along the second tier battlements of Temple Hill. Up here, she saw the island south laid bare, a once densely packed center of commerce reduced to miles of rubble and flames. There was no victory down there, only the painful scars of a needlessly brutal fight permanently etched into Golgotha's skyline.<p>

The basilisks still thundered away, pummeling the southern habs. The long range guns would chase the greenskins to the edge of the hive spire. Though Connor was a distance from the nearest gun battery, the noise was still loud enough that she didn't notice Uther approach her until he tapped her augmetic shoulder. She spun around instinctively, but immediately dropped her guard again when she saw his face.

He had two cigars between his fingers and a funny look on his face. "Care to talk, Elle?" The commissar took one of the cigars and lit it on Uther's outstretched match.

After blowing a small puff of smoke, Connor spoke. "So, what did you want to talk about?" she said in her normal, steely voice. It didn't bother Lars, being used to her hard attitude. It also helped them maintain the illusion of professionalism to the outside world.

Perhaps not anymore, however, Connor thought. "How's the arm?"

"Still doesn't feel right," Uther said, flexing his cloned arm. "Grafts are never perfect, you know."

"I find you perfect the way you are, Lars."

Uther let out a long whistle. "You're a terrible liar sometimes, Elle." They shared a little laugh. It felt good to make friendly jabs again. "How about you? Your new spine keeping up?"

Connor took another drag and blew it in his face. Her shoulders drooped. "Look, Lars, I doubt you wanted to talk about limbs and the replacement thereof. What is it?

Uther waved the smoke away. "I want to talk about us, Elle, strictly personal, no business. Is that alright?"

"If you wish." Connor already knew what was coming. But that did not stop her dreading the words that came out of his mouth. Uther stood next to her, staring out across the expanse of Golgotha.

"I don't think we can keep going like this, Connor. I can't be with you if I can't trust you. You should have told me."

Connor glanced over her shoulder at him. "And what would have happened if I did, Lars?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it would have ended worse than it did. I just sent a man to RIP and lost more to those bloody tech-priests because of you, Elle."

Connor countered, "So their deaths are on me now? I already told you that I held nothing against private Vornas. And you sent him to Ornoff? _Ornoff?_ You might as well have shot him yourself."

"That's your job, 'commissar'," said Uther angrily, "You forced my hand by doing nothing. You realize the reason he wanted to kill you was over Remer, right?"

"Oh, don't think I'm not aware of that, Lars," she snapped. She spun around and looked away from Uther, hiding her frustration from him. "I made a choice. It might not have been the right one, but I had not time to think it over. I'm sorry if my problems fell onto you because of it."

Uther put his hands on his hips and walked around Connor until they were standing face to face. "Listen, Elle. I don't care if you are a commissar, a simple guardsman or a damned lord general. We all make choices, the consequences of which we can't always see. But this is too much for me, now. I can't go on like this."

Connor was stricken. "So," she said slowly, "that's it, then?"

Uther looked older and more tired than Connor had ever seen him. "Yes, I guess it is." He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. There was an intensity in his eyes, "Listen, Elle, even despite this, know you are important to me, and you always will be."

Connor looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. "I know, Lars. Emperor forgive me, I know."

The two stood there for a while, not saying anything. Eventually Uther spoke up. "So, where did Commissar Gardus place you?"

Connor cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said we weren't going to talk about business?"

"Right, sorry." The continued to stare out across Golgotha, smoking their cigars.

"Seventh company," she said finally. "Caius's former unit. Just about annihilated. I'm going to whip the reserve troops into shape."

"It's not that far, then."

Connor looked Uther in the eyes, and for the first time in many weeks, she smiled. "No, it isn't, is it?"

* * *

><p>There was a knock on the billet's door. Remer opened it to reveal Kippler standing in the doorway. He was carrying a plasteel crate. He handed it to Remer. "These are yours, Lenham. I held onto them for you."<p>

Remer looked up at his tall friend and grinned. "Well," he said, "want to come in and help me sort through it all?" Remer took the box from Kippler and set it on his cot. Kippler sat down beside it and started to sift through the crate's contents.

"I wasn't able to save everything," Kippler said as he unpacked a bundle of hand rolled lho sticks. "Your flamer wasn't regulation, so the Munitorum clerks repossessed it. I just checked in with Jekam at the supply desk, though, and I was able to get you your grenade launcher back."

"Old 4551?" Remer said absently. He was fiddling with a drawstring along a lumpy package.

"The one and only," Soras said, "I double checked it with Jekam. Still has the dent in it where you clubbed that cultist back in Urizen."

Remer seemed strangely subdued, but KIppler chose not to confront him about it. He knew what Remer had just gone through; he'd need time to recover. Just released from the hospital two days earlier, it was evident he was still sore and moving slowly. But he was alive, and his injuries would heal.

"Oh," Remer said, catching the word in his throat. He managed to untangle the package's drawstring and a patchwork canvas with the symbol of a bear unraveled onto the bed. The words 'First Glory', written in broken High Gothic, were crudely stitched into the fabric.

Kippler looked over the flag. "I didn't want to let it go, Len. First Glory, friend."

Remer sniffed, and nodded his head. "Thanks, Soras. I guess I'll have to make some changes, though. Can't really name it the 85th if we're all together now."

"And you'll have to get someone to help you with your High Gothic, too" Soras said, playfully elbowing Remer's ribs. Remer gasped from the sudden pain. "Sorry," Kippler swiftly added, kicking himself for forgetting about Len's injuries.

Remer just waved it off. "Nothing, Soras, forget about it." He gingerly touched his ribs, "the doc said that they'd be sore for a while yet."

"Really, I didn't mean to-"

"It's _fine_, just leave it."

The door creaked open again. Kippler glanced over and saw a blonde woman in a pilot's dress uniform standing there, arms folded across her chest. "Are you two done fussing?" she said with a coy smile on her face. "This your sergeant you kept telling me about?"

Remer looked surprised. "What, Kippler here my sergeant? You mean Hurst, right, Valeris?"

Valeris pointed to Kippler's arm. "He's got the chevrons, doesn't he?"

Remer's eyes darted to Kippler's shirt. "When did you get those?"

"Two weeks ago, Len," Kippler frowned. "You really didn't notice?"

"I've been in the infirmary!" he protested. Valeris started to laugh.

"I told you when I came to visit," Kippler continued, keeping his voice even.

"Again, infirmary," Remer was getting flustered now. "I probably had more drugs in my system than a hopped up hive ganger. You can't expect me to remember everything."

"I remember," Valeris raised her hand, giggling. "You're the one who came to visit the other day. Kippler, was it?"

"Er, yes," Kippler said. He offered her his hand.

"Valeris Hexus," she said, shaking it.

Kippler nodded, "Odd last name, isn't it?"

"And Kippler sounds weird on my planet too," she countered, smiling.

Pleasantries exchanged, Remer spoke next. "What are you doing here, Valeris?"

The pilot rolled her head over her shoulder to look at Remer. "I'm shipping out, so I thought I'd say goodbye first. With _Aramatus_ gone, Helios squadron is stuck here with the rest of the ship's atmospheric craft."

"Which way are you headed?" Kippler asked.

Valeris shrugged. "South, I guess. There's still greenskins in the air and someone's got to put them down."

"Well, alright," said Remer. "But next time you get shot down, don't count on me to be there to find you and carry you up through a kilometer of ork infested undercity."

"After all that we went through, and now you get touchy at the goodbyes?" Valeris said teasingly. Remer didn't look impressed.

"I think I liked you better when we were running for our lives," he said, arms folded across his chest.

Valeris softened a bit. Remer was running between emotional highs and she was careful not to overdo it. "Honestly though, thank you, Lenham Remer. I owe you my life, and I am glad to have met you."

Remer chuckled, "It was my pleasure, Flygirl." Valeris smiled and hugged the disheveled trooper in a close embrace. Kippler, for his part, looked away. Val placed a subtle kiss on Remer's cheek while Soras wasn't looking.

Valeris glanced over Remer's shoulder. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the bed.

"It's a banner," Remer said, embarrassed. He spread the flag out evenly for her. "I know, I know, the High Gothic is terrible. I was going to fix it. I think it needs a change, Kippler."

"Oh?" said Kippler, "What part?"

"About the motto. 'First Glory' just doesn't sound right to me, anymore. It needs to be something more personal, more like the rest of the banner."

The three of them stood there, inspecting the grenadier's handcrafted masterpiece. It was a truly, magnificently ugly construction. "Are those bootlaces?" Valeris asked.

"Yes, shut up. I'm thinking."

"Did you use your old musette bag buckles?" said Kippler.

"_Shut up._" Remer rested his chin on his hands, plowing through his mind for ideas.

Finally, it came to him. It was simple, and it perfectly represented how he'd felt for years now.

"Remember home. Remember us."

Kippler nodded his approval. "A good motto." He patted Remer on the back, carefully this time. Valeris put her arm around Lenham and leaned on his shoulder.

"Someday, you can show me your home, footslogger."

"You first, Flygirl."

**END**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>And so, the Thundering 77s closes out. I have one more story left upon Meridian, and I promise you, this one will not take a year to write. At the time of this publishing, my friend and collaborator on these Dawn of War stories, Dark Eldar, has just updated the main story of our series, _Nothing But a List of Names to Mark his Ascension_. Now, obviously, as that story is several years ahead of this one, there will be spoilers involved. But I strongly encourage you to read it if you haven't already.

Coming up: Meridian reaches a crisis in the final arc of the Meridian Campaign: Commando 226.


	36. One Shot: The Fate of Aramatus

**The Fate of Aramatus**

**002.M42: Day 12 of the Green Winter Campaign**

Captain Antonius Marhawk, the newly appointed commander of the battleship _Aramatus_, stared intently at the pict-tiles orbiting around his command throne. In truth, he did not need to even look at the tiles to absorb their information. Though he had studied naval command for years and was no stranger to the use of a mind impulse unit, Marhawk was still getting used to the ebb and flow of the _Aramatus's_ machine spirit. He still relied on his own eyes, rather than fully embracing the ship.

_Aramatus_, for its part, was a patient spirit. The Oberon class battleship had, until recently, been under the control of one Vice Admiral Zaritz, by all measure a mediocre commander, who had only been granted his appointment by virtue of his family's noble status. _Aramatus_ had tolerated Zaritz, as it now tolerated Marhawk. The bond would grow over time; the first roots of trust between captain and ship had already been seeded.

The battleship resided in low orbit above the hive world of Meridian, the capital planet of Subsector Aurelia. Just eight days ago, local time, Marhawk had been Zaritz's first officer, watching helplessly as the Vice Admiral bungled the planet's defence against an onslaught of invading ork ships. It was that day, when Zaritz's incompetence had nearly cost Battlegroup Aurelia the capital, that Marhawk had been thrust into his current role as captain. Through a combination of luck and Marhawk's own intuition, the tattered imperial navy vessels had managed to prevent a total rout, and forced the greenskin menace to the surface.

As the ground war commenced, _Aramatus_'s role turned to fire support. The majority of the ork roks that had made planetfall had landed far from the major hive cities. Isolated in the Dead Zones, Marhawk had turned his battleship's lance batteries on these fortresses and annihilated them. He could not, however, do the same to those within the city of Golgotha. The spire city was the storehouse of Angel Hive, and to bombard it would be to starve Meridian's capital region. So, Marhawk waited while the forces of the Imperial Guard took the aliens to task for their transgressions.

The captain idly flicked through the tiles, assessing battle damage sustained during the opening phase of the invasion, when he received a hailing blip from the _Accuser_, one of the escort craft assigned to _Aramatus_. The _Accuser_, a Sword class frigate, was conducting reconnaissance on the edge of the Meridian system. While Marhawk's flagship oversaw Meridian orbit, the rest of the battle group were occupied with hunting down any more xenos vessels entering the system. Where one ork rok made landfall, more were almost assured to follow.

It seemed the _Accuser_ had found one, and was reporting its findings to the battleship. Marhawk shifted in his throne. It was far too large for him. Zaritz had been a mountain of flesh and fat, the result of too many years of sedentary ship command. Marhawk was by no means a small man, but even he felt dwarfed by the seat. _Accuser_ hailed again, but this time the blip was obscured in a mess of static.

Marhawk was immediately alert. "Nelsor, vox array status." Nelsor, Marhawk's replacement executive officer, nodded. The crew of the _Aramatus_ was aware of the vox problems plaguing the Imperial forces on the planet's surface, but there was nothing in the void that have hampered their own communications. Someone was jamming them.

"Vox array is offline, my lord," Nelsor replied after gathering the reports. "I have tried to raise the rest of our escort, but there has been no response."

_Damn it_. "Keep trying to contact the escort, commander," Marhawk said. This had all the markings of a trap. And unfortunately for Marhawk, it was one he had no choice but to be drawn into. With no way to organize a reconnaissance patrol to investigate, his hand was forced. _Aramatus_ would need to investigate the matter on its own.

If the _Aramatus_ moved to intercept, that would leave Meridian open to a potential attack from a second force. But without adequate knowledge of what happened to the frigate, the battleship could find itself facing a force beyond its capability to engage. Marhawk cursed under his breath. Both options presented to him were fraught with ifs and buts, and he had to choose one. In the end, Marhawk chose the former

"Nelsor, send two messages, one to Meridian's surface and the other to our escort. Inform the surface that we are moving to engage a force on the system's edge. Inform the escort to regroup in orbit in case we are outflanked."

"Yes sir," said Nelsor, saluting before starting for the vox officer's station. Marhawk tapped his armrest impatiently as he waited for his officer. Nelsor returned moments later, "Transmissions sent sir, but I have no way of knowing if either got through. Should I hail them again?"

"We cannot be certain they will respond, Nelsor. However, the situation cannot wait. Put the crew on battle alert. Have lance batteries charged and cannon batteries loaded. I want the ship ready for trouble."

"At once, my lord." Nelsor saluted smartly and strode from the command chamber.

Marhawk could feel the _Aramatus_ surging with power as the engine cluster growled to life. He felt only a fraction of the ship's strength flowing through his nervous system. Had he tasted the full force, he would surely be overwhelmed. But more than anything, he felt excitement. The ship was in a compromising situation, but Marhawk could not deny the eagerness with which he felt, the desire to prove himself worthy as _Aramatus's_ captain.

* * *

><p>When the <em>Aramatus<em> arrived at the coordinates, they found the _Accuser_ in ruins, shattered into a countless pieces. The blue livery of Battlefleet Korianis was marked with black scars where lance strikes had cut through the frigate's armour. The cloud of debris was drifting at several thousand kilometers per second, carried in the wake of the frigate's original vector away from the system. _Aramatus_ matched course and pulled alongside the remains to perform an auspex sensor sweep.

This was no ork attack, that much was immediately clear. Marhawk detected a pattern in the weapon markings as _Aramatus's_ scanners recreated the image of the _Accuser_. The ship had been meticulously stripped of its weapons and shields, before a concentrated array of lance strikes had torn its engineering section apart and lacerated the command decks. The frigate had barely fired a shot in return; temperature readouts indicated minimal residual heat from the gun batteries.

The sensor sweep complete, a reconnaissance flight was dispatched to screen the vessel, while a salvage team was assembled to retrieve the _Accuser's_ final recordings. Perhaps that would give an indication as to what had been behind the attack. The small barge eased out of the battleship's cavernous flight deck and drifted towards the hulk on vectored thrusters, grappling hooks primed.

Marhawk didn't like this. During the hour's journey to the system's edge, growing concern had edged into his mind. Whatever had destroyed the _Accuser_ was still out there. He didn't want to be here longer than he had to. It could easily turn into an ambush. The _Aramatus_ kept its weapons primed, alert for any disturbances. Several minutes passed.

"Nelsor, what news from the salvage operation?" asked Marhawk absently. Marhawk could have easily selected the results from his pict tiles, but he still found himself slipping into his former role as first officer from time to time. If both ship and crew worked in harmony they would be stronger for it.

"The Salvage team set down on the hulk twelve minutes thirty-four seconds ago, my lord. Internal debris was too hazardous for a closer landing point, so they are moving on foot in vacuum. I have my best man overseeing the task."

"And how long before they reach the bridge?"

"At their current pace, another twenty minutes, sir."

Marhawk lifted one of his socket laden arms to scratch his nose. "Any word from the escort? Twenty minutes is longer than I'd like to be without support."

"None as such, my lord," said Nelsor, "I set the alert message on a repeating cycle. If vox communications return, they will hear it."

"Good work, first officer. With luck, we won't be here much longer."

As they waited, Marhawk occupied himself in analyzing each part of the battleship. With his extended consciousness, it took an eternity, even though only seconds had truly passed. His thought process was accelerated to such a degree that the material world seemed to slow down in comparison.

This was the power that Zaritz had wielded. To expand one's senses so far, it was exhilarating. Marhawk felt himself begin to drift, to lose himself in the link between his mind and the _Aramatus's_ machine spirit. He brushed against the powerful entity, eliciting a warning signal reminiscent of an animal growl. Marhawk recoiled, drawing back his reach. The ship did not trust him so completely yet; the spirit was still wary.

The captain understood its hesitancy. The machine spirit had been hurt recently by Zaritz's failure. To be entrusted to another so quickly was difficult for _Aramatus_ to handle. Marhawk projected his sympathy to the spirit, to try and assuage its fears. After several microseconds passed, an age it felt like, _Aramatus_ relinquished more control to Marhawk. A sign of goodwill, it indicated. Satisfied, Marhawk plunged deeper and deeper still.

* * *

><p>The salvage barge <em>Bountiful Endeavour<em> had set down on the hulk of the _Accuser_ more than forty minutes prior. The crew, clad in bulky void suits, floated down the depressurized corridors of the frigate, tethered to their barge by retractable cables. Save for a handful of functioning deck lights, the salvagers traveled entirely by their own suit lamps. The harsh white lights cast long shadows throughout the myriad passages of the dead warship.

Twenty handpicked crewmen floated through the wrecked hulk, while four naval marines acted as the _Endeavour's_ security detail during the operation, two at the front of the group, two covering the rear. Kivek Baltrier, an aging man from the _Aramatus's_ middle decks, headed the operation. An experienced void technician, he had been officer Nelsor's top pick for the task. The new XO had an eye for talent, and he'd chosen old Kivek immediately for the ugly business of parsing through the _Accuser's_ remains.

Kivek clambered down the pitch black tunnels, deftly pushing off from the ribbed walls and grabbing hand rungs with a simian grace. To his security detail, Kivek looked odd as he traveled feet first down the corridor, essentially 'falling' through the guts of the ship. _Typical gravity dwellers_, Kivek thought, _always thinking in terms of up and down_. It didn't matter in the void; going legs first put several precious feet between his head and any hazards he might bump it on. Better to lose limb than life, Kivek always told his apprentices.

"This is taking too long," moaned one of the marines, a corporal named Blenner. The young man fiddled with his combat grade void suit, trying to untangle his autocarbine from the suit's webbing. _How the hell did he get on this expedition in the first place? _Kivek shook his head in disbelief. He checked the layout of the frigate on his suit's wrist display.

"We're two junctions away from the bridge, keep your space pants on, lad," he said, "It's not far now."

"Maybe we'd get there faster if you didn't insist on floating down each corridor like you were wearing a grav-chute, then," said another marine, Dalbolt. "My mother could navigate this wreck faster."

"Quiet down, both of you," snapped sergeant Frikka, bringing up the rear of the party.

"By all means, gentlemen, if you wish to go ahead without properly checking it's safe, that's your prerogative," said Kivek plainly. "I only command my scrappers, not you boys." The salvagers, sandwiched between two marines at the front and two behind, murmured their approval for Kivek.

"Fine then, Baltrier, we do it your way," said Frikka, clearly annoyed. He wasn't much better than his troopers, Kivek understood, but at least he could rein them in. "If we are as close as you say we are. Blenner, Dalbolt, move ahead and secure the bridge. Sachs and I will bring the team up when you vox in that it's clear."

"Roger that, sir," said Blenner, "Move it, scrapper," He and Dalboven pushed off the walls, shouldering past Kivek and disappearing into the gloom. _Fools,_ the salvager thought.

Five minutes later, the two marines voxed back to the group that they had secured the entrance. Kivek led his team again at a steady pace, until they were all gathered at the massive vault-like doors to the _Accuser's_ bridge. Kivek pulled out his auspex and ran it over the door. "Minor fractures in the surface. Looks like decompression damage. All right, cut it open, lads."

The salvagers got to work, setting up force industrial cutting lasers at fixed points on each of the doorframe. After the cutting beams sliced through the thick metal, two pneumatic rams were set in place with magnetic clamps. They punched the slab inwards with a noiseless thump. One by one, the salvagers and their escort drifted into the bridge.

There were bodies everywhere. The corpses were bloated with burst blood vessels, swelling into misshapen mockeries of the human form. To Kivek, the bodies looked like they were floating in water, bobbing and bouncing off the ruined deck. The bloodied remains of a deckhand drifted past him, her long wispy hair trailing behind her. Kivek gently pushed her aside, sending the body tumbling in a slow motion ballet towards the bulkheads.

The bridge was an absolute mess. Consoles had blown out, with jagged shards of razor metal embedded in the walls, sometimes pinning unfortunate souls to their former stations. Kivek passed the remains of another poor officer, impaled through his spine by a length of girder snapped off from the ceiling. Droplets of blood still floated everywhere, splattering against his void suit.

"Search the command chamber," ordered Kivek. "If this ship follows a standard bridge layout, the flight recorder should be within the captain's throne. Vimthy, take Yoros and Dax and strip anything you can from the tac-logis sanctum beneath the captain's chamber. See if they got an ID on the ship that did this."

* * *

><p>The <em>Accuser<em> had taken a direct hit along its center spine, snapping it like a twig. A field of debris formed between the fore and aft hull segments, spinning and colliding with itself in a chaotic maelstrom. Flights of Fury interceptors from the _Aramatus_ passed over this field performing frequent sweeps, yet they found nothing, not wishing to tempt the unpredictable path of the wreckage by flying closer than necessary.

It was a typical failure of Imperial doctrine, the unwillingness to take risks or think creatively. Such an oversight would not go unpunished. For had the reconnaissance craft been more thorough, they may have uncovered the threat lurking within debris cloud: three armored transports, their tapered hulls ending in an array of spiked claws, waiting for the signal to engage.

The time was drawing near. The abominations lining the holds of the boarding rams could sense the change. In the lead craft, one figure stood before his charges, soothing their bloodlust until the moment was nigh. It would be soon now, very soon.

A screech echoed across the boarding ram's vox systems, as it did every vessel within a thirty thousand kilometer range. The words were spoken clearly and coldly, carrying with them the impending sense of dread that struck fear into the hearts of the False Emperor's devout. Even the abominations shuddered at the sound. The voice of Chaos.

"Embrace the Truth of Chaos, servants of the False Emperor. Meet your true Gods."

An moment of stunned silence followed the declaration as the Imperials struggled to regain vox control. The hellish voice tore at the minds of the Imperial crew. Some men vomited at their stations, others bleeding from their ears, unable to block out the voice. Before they could recover, a massive energy reading was detected by the _Aramatus's_ auspex relays.

A tear in reality split open beneath the _Aramatus_, a twisting, coiling rift of warp energy spilling from the Immaterium into the void. A ship, massive in size, tore through the warp rift perpendicular to the _Aramatus's_ bottom hull. It was a grand cruiser, blackened and jagged with the scars of a thousand conquests.

And it's weapons were primed.

* * *

><p>Yoros pried open the hatch to the tac-logis sanctum. Yoros moved inside, followed by Dax and Vimthy. Emergency lights were still working, albeit faintly, casting a green glow across the consoles. Naturally, thought Yoros, the tac-logis would operate under its own power in the event of an emergency. "Start searching. The recording device will be linked to the cogitator bank on the far wall."<p>

Above, the remainder of Kivek's team scoured the captain's chamber. The baroque golden throne, reminiscent of the one aboard the _Aramatus_, sat occupied by the blubbery remains of the late Captain Thessivyl. His connecting wires had been decoupled, violently tearing away gobs of flesh as they did. He had spent his final minutes blinded and senseless, numb without his connection to the _Accuser's_ machine spirit. It had been an intentional act, to leave him in agony rather than grant him a swift death. The curious reason for Thessivyl's death went unnoticed by the salvagers, too intent on retrieving the valuable flight recorder and anything else of value.

Staying perfectly still, a giant watched the mortals scurry about the chamber like rats searching for a meal. Clad in crimson and silver plate, he blended in with the blood splattered walls. Within his skull shaped helmet, targeting runes flashed across his visor, arranging the mortals below in order of threat posed to the giant. A meagre threat, but one nonetheless. His internal vox blipped, a quick sequence of static fuzz. The mother had arrived. The giant made his move.

Atrextus, disciple of the Word Bearers legion, kicked off from the ceiling, launching himself towards the unwitting victims below. At the last moment, he activated his razor toothed chainsword, spinning the blade in a three hundred sixty degree arc just before hitting the deck. Three mortals were bisected by the manoeuvre. Before the imperials knew what hit them, the astartes was already moving again.

With inhuman speed, the disciple bounded across the chamber, grabbing another salvager and slamming his helmet into the man's face. Chips of skull and brain matter dripped off of the Word Bearer's armour. The other targets, broken of their horrified stupor, did not hesitate to flee from the space marine. Atrextus let them go, for now. The Word of Chaos would reach all ears in time. And their time was very short indeed.

* * *

><p>No matter how he tried, Kivek could not prevent the chilling phrase from repeating across his vox link. <em>Embrace the Truth of Chaos, meet your true gods<em>, chanted over and over. The chant was joined by panicked screams from the salvagers still in the command chamber. Kivek and the surviving crewmen cowered behind Frikka's marines. The sergeant pointed his snub nosed autogun at the entrance to the chamber with shaking hands. He had no idea what he was up against.

Atrextus rocketed through the archway, his fang-mouthed bolt pistol flashing with each shot. The astartes' aim was precise, each bolt meeting its target and detonating a millisecond later. Not that Atrextus was trying particularly hard; the attack came so swiftly his victims wouldn't have been able to react even had they not been paralyzed with terror. Without firing off a shot, Frikka's fireteam was reduced to chunks of bloody meat that splattered over the salvagers.

Kivek, however, did not freeze. Instead, his fear manifested itself in panic, and he acted on instinct. He activated his suit's retractor system. Far away, the _Bountiful Endeavour's_ tethers began to recoil. Kivek felt a sharp jerk, and he was dragged away towards safety. The image of the monstrous space marine carving a bloody path across the bridge was the last Kivek Baltrier saw before he was yanked around the winding corridors of the dead ship.

Even in his panicked state, Kivek remembered his safety training. He kicked off from walls to avoid allowing the cable to snap around sharp corners. The cries of his team rang in his helmet. He was too frightened to feel cowardice for abandoning them. In the face of an unstoppable demigod, a man's integrity meant nothing. So he fled, hoping to extend his life by a few precious seconds.

* * *

><p>Back on the bridge, Atrextus surveyed his handiwork with indifference. The struggle was barely worthy of the word, lasting less than a minute. It was a thankless job, slaughtering those too weak to fight back, but it had been necessary to delay the <em>Monument of Sin's<em> main target from withdrawing back to enemy lines.

As he stood amongst the dead, Atrextus's motion tracker beeped quietly. His left pauldron automatically lowered as the space marine glanced over his shoulder. A green glow emanated from the sanctum beneath the vaulted command chamber. The tac logis sanctum's door hastily closed, but not quick enough to escape the marine's attention. Atrextus stalked over to investigate, his targeting runes scanning all the while.

Three targets inside, lit up on the infrared and cowering in the corner. _Pathetic_, Atrextus thought. Rather than waste his time carving through more unworthy foes, he unclipped a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin. Letting it float in midair, he gave it the slightest tap, sending it tumbling into the room. Vimthy, Yoros and Dax died in a hail of shrapnel, their screams swallowed by their void suits.

His task completed, Atrextus stalked through the _Accuser's_ halls, until he reached the observation dome centered atop the upper spine of the ship. The vaulted ceiling was From here, he would watch the death of an Imperial relic. His vox suddenly chimed.

"You missed one, brother."

Atrextus reviewed his helmet's targeting data. "So I have. All in due time, lord."

* * *

><p>The attack had come without warning. Caught dead in space, the <em>Aramatus<em> was not positioned properly to counter the enemy warship's angle of attack. Striking from below, the coal-black grand cruiser cut across the center spine of the Imperial battleship, raking its starboard gun batteries with repeated volleys while presenting a minimal profile for retaliation. A Repulsive Class grand cruiser, its armament rivaled that of the _Aramatus_, yet lacked the armor of the larger ship. But the Word Bearers had chosen their attack carefully to mitigate this flaw.

Alerted to their mothership's plight, the reconnaissance strike craft swept back towards _Aramatus_ while the flight deck scrambled the remaining ships. Clouds of Hell Blade interceptors disgorged from the Repulsive's own bays in response. Compared to atmospheric dogfights, the void craft engaged only in swift passes, relying on acceleration and timing over manoeuvrability. Split second flashes betrayed the demise of fighters too slow to react. Others still met their end at the guns of the two juggernauts trading broadsides.

The three assault claws hidden within the wreck of the _Accuser_ received a series of static blips from the grand cruiser. Engage. Firing up their engines, they screamed towards the aft section of the battleship's hull, aiming directly for the engineering section. Imperial strike craft were attempting to form a screen around the stricken _Aramatus_, but the rams charged through them, relying on their armor and their furious point defense guns. To the Imperials' credit, they only broke off their pursuit when it became clear it was too late.

The rams, front loaded with shaped charges and heavy arrays of melta guns, hit the _Aramatus_ just as the cruiser's barrage brought down the aft shield screen, shimmering like oily water before dissipating entirely. The assault claws embedded themselves in the lower levels of the engineering section. Possessed marines, fused into their armor by the mutating effects of the warp, deployed from their pods and set to work performing the only act they understood: destroy.

* * *

><p>Marhawk was only vaguely aware of the bridge. He was crippled with agony, sharing the battleship's pain. Like bacteria infecting a person's veins, <em>Aramatus <em>felt the pain of the warp creatures that stalked its corridors, slaughtering the crew and disabling vital ship functions. With every node they destroyed, Marhawk felt as though a nerve had been severed, leaving him numb. He wasn't prepared for this, even after all his efforts to connect with the machine spirit. It was too much.

His vision was blurred. His hearing was muffled. He tasted iron in his mouth. Somebody was shaking him, shouting. With effort, Marhawk focused. Nelsor was standing over the command throne, trying to force the captain out of his stupor. Marhawk's head lolled around to look Nelsor in the face. "Report," he groaned.

"Sir, the starboard shield array has failed. Bulkheads 215 through 359 are open to vacuum, no survivors. Starboard broadside is at forty percent and failing, and we have lost contact with engineering."

Marhawk spoke slowly, his words slurred, "Engineering... it is overrun... boarding parties bypassed our defenses. I cannot feel anything beyond the ship's central spine."

"Sir, you are not well, allow me to help, please," urged Nelsor. "I will have a force of marines ready to take engineering in minutes."

"Good, good... what of our salvage crew, Nelsor?"

Nelsor shook his head. "Nothing, sir. Baltrier's vox is dead. Not that we can hear much through that accursed chanting."

Marhawk was becoming more composed, speaking more confidently. "Then, then it is too late for them. Mister Nelsor, our priority is to regain control of engineering and get out of here. I shall hold off these traitors as long as I can. I am counting on you. Go."

* * *

><p>Kivek had shut his vox off, the only respite he could get from the chanting voices and the chilling screams of his comrades. There was still a long ways to go back to the salvage barge. The cable winded its way back to the ship, dragging him uncomfortably along the blackout corridors. As long as he got as far away from that monster as he could get, he would stomach the bruises.<p>

The open void was unusually bright when he finally reached the barge. Above him, a massive battle was raging between the _Aramatus_ and some unholy warship. The brightness was attributed to the flashes of shield bursts dissipating the tremendous broadsides they were exchanging. The salvager suddenly felt very small and helpless.

Kivek froze. A large, gauntleted hand had rested on his shoulder. Trembling, he looked up and saw the metal giant standing next to him. Despite his deactivated vox, he heard the astartes' voice, clear as day coming through the speaker.

"Such a sight, is it not, mortal? It has been so long, sometimes I forget what this spectacle must appear like to the common man. I had chosen to witness this from the observatory of this hulk, but I realize now that this is far more visceral. Nothing between us and the slaughter above. Only the void.

"I must thank you, mortal. It is not often I a find myself surprised, yet you have done just that. Savour this moment, for it shall be your last. Die well knowing that you served a higher purpose."

Atrextus closed his hand around the salvager's neck, crushing it with one motion. He let out a sigh.

"Lovely speech, Atrextus," came a voice from his vox. "Are you finished toying with whelps?"

"Even a mortal can offer insight, if viewed in the right context. Have the _Monument of Sin_ collect me when this is over."

* * *

><p>Fleet Commissar Turesav brandished his short bladed chainsword, specifically designed for boarding actions. Behind him followed one hundred of the <em>Aramatus's<em> naval ratings, skilled marines and the last line of defense for the warship. Clad in deep blue uniforms with golden epaulets, their faces obscured by pressurized helmets, the company of marines embarked on the conveyor system that ran the length of the battleship, eight kilometers long.

Turesav turned to face the men assembled on the tram platform. "We have only one goal, soldiers: secure engineering. Anything less than human is to be purged with extreme prejudice. Show no mercy, for you shall receive none! Go into battle with a prayer on your lips, for the Emperor is watching over you! To victory!"

"To victory!" cheered the marines. The tram slowed down as it came into the aft station. It was only a short walk to the monolithic doors of the engineering section. The techpriests that had survived the onslaught had sealed the entrance behind them, and they weren't in the mood to open it again. Turesav had to kill three priests for cowardice before a fourth finally relented.

The doors swung open slowly. The marines raised their snub nosed autoguns and las-carbines to their shoulders and cautiously advanced. The massive chamber was dark from power failure, only lit by flaming debris. The engine cluster rose almost a kilometer in height. It was dotted with ramps and scaffolding, running across the engines like veins. Finding the intruders would take time, Tursesav reckoned.

"Fan out, squads of ten!" he ordered, "You see anything, you call it in and engage."

It wasn't long before Turesav's men made contact. Drawn by the scent of fresh blood, the possessed astartes converged on the marines. Commissar Turesav's own squad was just crossing the top of a secondary engine when the beast ambushed them. Unflinching in the face of lasfire, the warp spawn tore through the squad without a second thought, ripping soldiers limb from limb, until only the commissar himself remained. The fearlessness of the officer was lost on the creature, who slashed his chest open before Turesav had a chance to raise his sword.

A similar event played out in sequence among the rest of the squads, slaughtered to a man within minutes of entering the engine room. A single figure strode across the great thrusters, paying little heed to the bloody handiwork of his charges. From the Warp they had been summoned, and when their task had been completed, to the Warp they would return.

Clad in a robe inscribed with arcane runes and unholy scripture, wearing a winged, crimson helm, Amphion, Sorcerer of the Word Bearers, muttered incantations as he crossed the breadth of the engine room. A darkness clung to him like a cloak, masking his movements from the hapless mortals so desperately trying to hold off his thralls. Upon each great engine, he placed a symbol with a touch of his staff, glowing red as if applied by a brand. A strange vibration filled the chamber, growing stronger with each sigil he placed.

Finished with their butchery, the possessed astartes congregated around Amphion, awaiting his orders. Beneath his helmet, the sorcerer smiled. With a wave of his hand and a psychic gesture, he set the astartes free to do as they would across the ship. The end would come soon, and his protection was no longer required.

Standing atop the primary thruster, Amphion spoke in a dark language, chanting the words of his incantation. The sigils upon the engines glowed ever brighter, until the blackened chamber was blindingly bright. Amphion swelled with the power coursing through him, screaming with delight as he harnessed the dark sorcery of the Warp. Raising his arcing staff high above his head, the Sorcerer uttered the final phase of the spell and brought the pommel striking down upon the engine array.

The blinding light vanished in a shockwave. All went dark, all went silent. The great engines of the _Aramatus_ grew silent, never again to awaken. His work completed, Amphion, Sorcerer of the Word Bearers left the crippled battleship through a tear in the Warp, leaving the mortals to their fate.

* * *

><p>Marhawk clutched his chest as if a spear had been rammed through his heart. He sat upright, struggling to breath. Something was wrong with <em>Aramatus<em>, far worse than the pain of battle damage. This was a poison, a plague upon the machine spirit's very essence. The captain had drifted too deeply into the connection, and he felt the pain as the ship itself. It overwhelmed him, leaving him in spasms on his throne.

This final act sealed the fate of the _Aramatus_. It's power source ruined, its shields breached and its escort nowhere to be found, the Oberon Class Battleship was at the mercy of the _Monument_. The grand cruiser unleashed a punishing volley of lance strikes into the imperial warship, devastating it's bridge and opening its engineering chamber to open space. A side effect of the sorcerer's trickery, when weapons fire struck the poisoned engines, they detonated with titanic force.

When the _Monument of Sin_ struck the _Accuser_, it had selectively crippled the vessel to offer enticing bait for the ambush. The _Aramatus's_ demise did not share this aspect. It was destroyed utterly, consumed in an implosion of matter that left remains no larger than grains of sand, reduced to sheer nothingness.

* * *

><p>Aboard the <em>Monument<em>, Amphion walked the shifting hallways, accompanied by the disciple Atrextus. A veteran of the Word Bearers, Atrextus had volunteered for the thankless butchery aboard the _Accuser_ without question. Loyalty, Amphion reckoned, was one of Eliphas's greatest strengths. _Ironic, given our Lord's reputation_, he thought with a slight chuckle.

The two astartes entered the bridge and bowed before the Inheritor, resting atop his throne. "My lord, our task was carried out as you demanded," Atrextus said. Amphion stayed silent, watching the Inheritor's face, trying to unravel what Eliphas was thinking. Beneath endless scars and grafted flesh, the Inheritor was almost inscrutable at times.

"Two astartes and a rabble of mutants, claiming the lives of thousands in mere minutes," said Eliphas, his voice as hard edged and raspy as claws scraped against metal. "A fine performance, wouldn't you say? And yet, I cannot help but hear some doubt in your voice, Atrextus. Tell me, what is it that perturbs you? Speak plainly."

"My lord, you know I follow you willingly. However, I must confess I understand little reason for such an attack. What do we hope to gain by treating to battle in the void, when the subsector is ripe for the taking? We are not pirates, and our talents are wasted here."

Amphion watched the edges of a smile creep across Eliphas's cracked lips. "Patience, Atrextus, is what sets us apart from the servants of the False Emperor. While they dally with the greenskins on their worlds, we wait, as we have always done. Time is on our side, and we shall make the most of it."

"By toying with inexperienced commanders?" Atrextus frowned. "How does that help us?"

"By cultivating the proper atmosphere of discontent amongst the Imperials, we further our goal of destabilizing this subsector. With the destruction of their flagship, the Imperial Navy cannot hope to control this region of space with any degree of success. As word spreads of Aurelia's state, more victims will be drawn into the subsector like flies to rotting flesh. That is why we prey on ships, Atrextus. That is why we distance ourselves from the fighting. When the time is right, and subsector Aurelia passes the point of no return, then we will reveal ourselves and reap the bounty of our efforts."

Atrextus nodded, understanding at last. Amphion finally spoke. "As you say, Inheritor, time is on our side. The Truth of Chaos shall come to all in time."

* * *

><p>Author's note: Just a little one shot as an addendum to the last story before I dive into the last Meridian War story I've got lined up.<p> 


	37. Commando 226

**COMMANDO 226**

**Clash of Iron**

_When proof of treachery amongst the Adeptus Mechanicus on Meridian became known, the response was anything but subtle. After Magos Dolthem had been publically denounced by governess Elena Derosa for acts of sabotage and murder, the noble houses of Angel Hive demanded the heretics be brought to justice and face execution for their crimes. Angel Forge, granted autonomy from the government through a forced bargain, sealed its gates to the Imperium in protest of the charges. Imperial forces established a siege of the forge as a result. Two months passed._

_In the southeast, the Imperial Guard continued to fight against the widening Ork presence plaguing Golgotha Spire, Angel Hive's religious and commercial hub. The ongoing battle, colloquially dubbed the Green Winter, had raged since late 002.M42, when Warboss Smashface's greenskins had made planetfall, intent on looting and pillaging. With no end in sight, Imperial regiments were constantly rotated in and out of the warzone in order to keep the spread of greenskin forces in check._

_With the bulk of the Guard forces committed to the Green Winter Campaign, the first strikes made by Magos Dolthem's cult went unanswered. What began as skirmishes against the meagre Imperial picket lines surrounding Angel Forge soon became major offensives, until the threat of Mechanicus aggression could no longer be ignored. The crisis reached a head when several nuclear warheads were launched against Capitol Spire. Only a last minute warning from techpriests still loyal to the Imperium enabled Governess Derosa to raise the Spire's void shields in time and prevent the total destruction of the Spire._

_The time had come for retaliation. As hundreds of Imperial regiments continued to pour into Subsector Aurelia, a second front was opened on Meridian, with the singular goal of annihilating Magos Dolthem and his followers. To this end, Derosa made contact with the Priesthood of Mars, presenting her findings to the Ruling Priesthood. Magos Dolthem was declared Excommunicate Traitoris, and the Auxilia Myrmidon, the Mechanicus's siege masters, were deployed to the planet to put an end to the hereteks and reclaim Angel Forge for the Imperium._

* * *

><p><strong>Angel Forge, Southern Front, Day 79<strong>

The fuel station was the only notable landmark for twenty kilometers in either direction along the encirclement. Captured during the first days of the siege, as Imperial and Mechanicus forces drove the traitor tech-guard back to the walls of Angel Forge, the station now stood amongst a sea of tents and ammo dumps. The large flat roofed structure had been built to accommodate the great cargo haulers that once traveled along Meridian's super-highways. Now, it served as division headquarters for several Maveron regiments of the Imperial Guard. Silver and green Maveron flags flew from the station's roof and hung over the entrances.

The morning fog that lay over the ground quickly dissipated as the skies opened and the daily deluge of rain swamped the region. After a short but bitterly cold winter, spring on the northern continent was heralded by the annual wet season. It was in no small part caused by the immense heat exhaust created by the hive spires that dotted Meridian's surface; weather on the planet was fierce and prone to extreme changes.

Corporal Javar Linkstrom of the 373rd Maveron Division, pulled his rain cape higher over his neck. The heavy downpour rattled against his helmet. His package of lho-sticks were soggy. His boots were waterlogged. He was miserable.

True, siege duty was better than going blade to blade with the greenskins in Golgotha Spire, but that was a poor consolation for the young trooper stuck on watch duty. Linkstrom had hated Meridian from the moment he'd stepped off the troopship. First it was the menial guard duty, while the other regiments went off to fight in the true battlefields across the subsector. That naive outlook had quickly vanished when the Green Winter began, and the horrors he'd witnessed there. Then came this nightmare war against the machine men. Now, he would have given anything for that menial guard duty. Anything other than this hell.

Oh true, the Auxilia Myrmidons had built a spectacular siege line around Angel Forge to encircle the traitors. Nearly thirty feet high at some points and bristling with weaponry so strange and ancient that figuring out how they worked baffled Linkstrom, it stood between the Imperial camps and their foe. The loyalist Mechanicus forces were master siege workers, and the Maveron regiments on the southern front could not ask for better aid. But a wall was just a wall, and that hadn't stopped the traitor tech-guard. Unmoved by emotions or poor weather, they assaulted Imperial positions constantly. The field that lay between Imperial lines and the forge was littered with thousands of bodies, all sinking into the mud that plagued friend and foe alike.

_Screw this_. Javar needed a hot cup of caffeine. When nobody was looking, he slipped away from his post. Sloshing through puddles up to his ankles, he wound his way through the camp towards the gas station. Maybe the officers had opened a new box and he could snag a few packets for himself and the platoon. The commander would never notice a couple missing.

A convoy of troop trucks was working its way up towards the station on their way to the frontline, half a kilometer north. Linkstrom perked up when he saw them; perhaps his rotation was up. The Maveron lances operated on a three week rotation schedule: one week at the front, two weeks at the rear echelon. His heart sank when he saw the transports did not bear Maveron colours, but rather an olive green pattern from a different regiment.

The soldiers in the back of the truck were a vicious looking bunch. Their heavy upper body armor and narrow brimmed helmets made each man look like a crushball player. Compared to the light flak coat and simple plasteel shoulder plates distributed to the Maverons, these guardsmen looked more like the traitor Magos's Skitarii, if tech-guards wore a permanent scowl. The sides of each truck bore the markings 36/46/85 VG. A commissar rode in each of the five trucks, and Linkstrom realized what he was looking at.

This was a penal company, or a RIP detail. He'd heard stories about how other regiments dealt with criminals in their ranks. The dirtiest, deadliest scum of the regiment would all be rounded up into special detachments and then be given suicide missions to prove their loyalty. Surviving members were given the chance to appeal their punishment and be returned to their units, while the dead served their purpose by dying on the battlefield.

The Maverons had a much simpler approach: commit a crime and be executed. It was no secret that the number of Maveron soldiers on Meridian nearly outnumbered the other Imperial regiments combined. There was no shortage of manpower, and no tolerance for delinquents. Linkstrom sometimes skirted the law, but he was always careful not to get caught. And his crimes never went beyond some creative "scavenging", like he was about to do at the station.

Just being under the flat roof of the fuel pumps was a relief. Inside, the station was bustling with officers conversing with adjutants, liaisons from other regiments and administratum bureaucrats, and the myrmidon himself. Each regiment on the siege front had at least one centurius from the Auxilia overseeing their sector of the encirclement. Centurius Wophesh was a terrifying figure, towering over the Maveron soldiers, clad in layers of iron and steel. With his red hood pulled back, the extent of his mechanical augmentations was abundantly clear. The only thing Linkstrom could truly say was still human were the dead eyes staring lifelessly out from under Wophesh's metal brow.

Linkstrom wheeled into the storeroom to avoid the centurius. The tech-priests made him uneasy, especially the hulking destructors that followed Wophesh everywhere. They were even less humanlike than he was; their arms had been replaced with massive weapons that looked like they should be mounted on tanks, not carried. Common enemies made for strange alliances, and not one that Linkstrom particularly liked.

"Afternoon, Javar." Supply sergeant Raverro looked over his shoulder as Linkstrom slipped inside. The sergeant was a short man with a face that looked like somebody had punched it inwards and stayed that way. Despite his looks, it was an open secret amongst the enlisted men that Raverro ran a black market ring underneath the officers' noses. Extra Lho-sticks, cigars, alchohol, and even highly illegal stimulants and combat chems, he had it all, if a soldier had the money to pay or something to trade.

"Caffeine packs, Rav," Linkstrom threw a handful of the local coinage down on the table. "I know you have them, hurry up."

Raverro waved his arms mockingly, taking his time to grab the packets. "What's got you in such a rush, corporal? You miss the rain already?"

"Don't remind me. You'd think we were in the ocean out there."

Raverro grinned nastily and flicked his eyebrows at Linkstrom. "It's nice in here, ain't it?" he said, rubbing it in. "You should've joined the supply corps then, if you hate it out there so much. Need to keep a nice roof over the ammo so it doesn't get wet, I get to ride around in a truck when I'm not here, and, I know everyone's vice, so all I need is a little persuasion and I can get whatever I want."

Linkstrom was having none of it, "Look, you rat, are you going to give me the packets or not? I'm skipping out on sentry duty, can you hurry it up?" He kept glancing nervously at the entrance, afraid that they might draw the attention of an officer, or worse, Wophesh.

"Will you stop looking at the door? Emperor, if you're that jumpy, go out the back. Here, straight from the general's own stash, premium stuff. Now get out of here, you're making me nervous too."

"Jackass," Linkstrom muttered as he closed the door.

Raverro clearly heard him, "Screw you too, Javar!" he called after the corporal, laughing. Linkstrom gripped his caffeine packets and walked away.

* * *

><p>No sooner was Linkstrom outside that the sirens began wailing. <em>Incoming fire<em>, he realized. To the north, light flashed against a backdrop of dark clouds, followed by the distant thunder of artillery. Instinctively, he threw himself back underneath the gas station overhang. All around him, other troopers dived for cover wherever they could find it. Some attempted to bury themselves in the mud, for all the help it would do.

The first few shells made it through just before the camp's portable shield curtains activated. The volley of shots landed frighteningly close to the station, blasting large craters where tents once stood. A canvas covered ammo dump went up like firecrackers when the shell struck, throwing liquid promethium over a dozen tents, and then the whole camp started to burn. Linkstrom watched in horror as men were doused in unquenchable flames, while others clutched at missing or mangled limbs. Only a handful of shells, but the damage was severe.

The shield curtain held, however, the kinetic force of the artillery shells dissipating like ripples on oily water. Rising from the Myrmidon's towers, the shield pylons formed an energy barrier aimed towards the forge to protect against indirect fire. But artillery only meant that an assault would soon follow. The skitarii would be on them soon, using the guns to cover their advance.

Men were scrambling back to their feet now that they were safe from the bombardment. Centurius Wophesh strode from the building, followed by his destructors and the 373rd's officers. Wophesh's red cloak was torn back, revealing three additional arms, each ending in a vicious blade, crackling with energy. "All guardsmen to the front!" he barked through an augmented voice box. The dead eyes targeted Linkstrom. "You, corporal, with me!" The sharp tendrils pointing at Linkstrom made it clear it was not up for debate.

As they ran towards the front, Wophesh conscripted every trooper his gaze set upon. Soon, he had several dozen men following him and his bulky destructors. The bombardment above them rocked the shields, casting lightning arcs of energy across their surface. Linkstrom wasn't sure if he should be afraid or awestruck by the incredible firepower. Remembering his training, he checked his lasgun's charge setting and ensured his vox link was operating properly. Captain Deribar's vox channel was nowhere to be found, so he patched into the centurius's. The static and beeps used by the techpriests took a few moments to translate to proper gothic, but it was better than nothing.

The rear line of the encirclement stood at the top of a shallow incline. Some of the troopers lost their footing on the loose mud and had to claw their way up the slope. At the top, Linkstrom was met with an terrifying sight. Across the killing field, the traitor tech-guard were advancing in force across the killing fields. Thousands of skitarii machine men charged the imperial positions, the gyrostabilizers in their legs giving them unerring accuracy as they fired upon the Maverons. Five men were cut down next to Linkstrom before he ducked behind a machine gun nest. The gunners paid him no heed, and the heavy chug of bolter fire nearly deafened him.

The penal troopers Linkstrom had seen before were manning the weapons. Commissars were stalking between the emplacements, shouting and striking at troopers who didn't do as they commanded. Javar saw one man try to make a run for the slope. He made it to the lip before three las bolts from one commissar pierced his chest. The corpse rolled down the muck and slid to a stop at the base of the hill. A single glance from a particularly gruesome looking officer was all it took to get Linkstrom to fire his weapon.

Atop the highest battlements, Myrmidon techpriests activated their weaponry. Mortar batteries thumped and fired high explosive shot against the skitarii. Linkstrom witnessed a massive plasma culverin rake the landscape with a continuous beam that eviscerated all it touched. A myriad of other strange weapons came online, bombarding the tech-guard with explosives, energy blasts and storms of airburst flechettes. But it didn't slow them down. Perhaps they were so augmented that pain no longer affected them?

More and more Maveron guardsmen reached the top of the hill, falling into the trench lines and pouring ever more intense fire onto the traitors. The imperial troopers had numbers on their side, and the sheer firepower provided by the Myrmidons, but the skitarii's deadly accuracy meant that dozens of men died every second. The traitors were closing the gap quickly, drawing into close range. Linkstrom heard the penal commissars call for bayonets. The glint of polished blades stood in stark contrast to the rain and mud, and the guardsmen braced for impact.

Grenades came first, either lobbed overhead or fired from wrist launchers grafted onto the tech-guards' arms. A bomb landed at Linkstrom's foot, but he picked it up and tossed it right back at the enemy. The grenade exploded in midair, hot shrapnel raining down and cutting into skin and metal. One of the penal troopers jumped from his gun nest and fell next to Linkstrom. The nest exploded soon after, taking the lives of two troopers and cooking off the ammunition belt. The trooper gave one glowering look at Linkstrom and then turned back to the fight.

He was a massive man, well over six feet tall and broad as a greenskin. His face, from what Javar could make out, was a mess of scar tissue and deep gouges, like he had taken a face full of burning shrapnel. The lasgun looked tiny in his meaty hands, but the penal trooper used it as well as any Maveron rifleman. He rammed the bayonet into the first skitarius that reached their pit. "Are you just going to sit their staring or fucking help me?" the man roared over the sound of the heavy bolter.

Linkstrom realized he had been sitting idle, and got his feet under him. About three hundred skitarii had managed to break through the killzone and assault the Imperial line. A vicious melee ensued, with guardsmen meeting blade with bayonet and chainsword. Linkstrom found out the hard way to make sure the enemy stayed down for good. Turning his back on a skitarius he had shot down, Linkstrom didn't notice the trooper get back to his feet. The whir of its saw blade barely gave Javar time to react. The saw bit into his cheek, spurting hot blood down his uniform. Falling backwards, the Maveron fired his lasgun on full auto into the machine man, blowing his head off in a shower of oil, metal and flesh.

While the guardsmen struggled in the trenches and foxholes, centurius Wophesh strode across the open ground, targeting the heretics with extreme prejudice. He was protected by a personal use refractor shield, visibly by the slight shimmer of the rain that drizzled over it. In his two human arms, he wielded an axe in the shape of a sharpened gear, while his mechadendrite limbs flailed with blades and digital weaponry. The centurius carved a bloody path through the skitarii, crying prayers to the Omnissiah as he delivered fatal blows. None could stand before his righteous onslaught.

The commissars from the penal detail formed together. Their leader, the gruesome one that had stared daggers at Linkstrom, took his five junior officers into the fray with chainsword and powerfist alike. The commissar roared litanies, "By purging the unclean, you cleanse your souls, men! Through victory you shall gain your freedom from the shackles of sin! Be at them!"

Linkstrom and the penal trooper both pinned a skitarii officer against the sandbags with their bayonets. While linkstrom fired into the traitor's body, the scarred man ripped the belt of grenades from the corpse's waist. With a look of murderous glee in his eyes, the trooper began throwing the explosives back at the skitarii with a trained efficiency. Grenades landed between the feet of clumped soldiers, others that he held longer went off as airbursts, killing several skitarii in moments. Linkstrom realized where the trooper's scars had come from.

The fighting dragged on for several minutes, but by then it was clear that the attack would be repulsed. The full might of the Myrmidon weaponry had cut off the skitarii reinforcements, while more Maveron soldiers were pouring onto the line to repel the enemy. The heavy bolter crew in Linkstrom's pit had been slaughtered by the skitarii, left dangling over the smoking machine gun. He and the penal trooper fell backwards and rested their backs against the side of the dugout. The trooper pulled out a cigar and tossed it onto Javar's lap. Javar nodded and they shared a moment, just sitting there, staring out over the bloody field, without a word between them. What needed to be said?

Eventually, officers from the Maveron regiments made the rounds to collect their men. Wophesh had been so quick to react that he had left most of the senior staff back at the station, seeing the need for troopers at the frontline as his priority. Rather than trouble himself with berating lieutenants and jumped up captains, he and his destructors departed to inspect their automated weaponry. Few were sorry to see him go, even if the centurius had saved the 373rd from being overrun.

It was the commissar that found them first. Up close he was even more repulsive looking. A short man with a wiry frame, he had a long drawn face with a permanent scowl and a crooked, beaked nose. Beady eyes squinted at Linkstrom from under the brow of his cap, but it was the penal trooper he was interested in. "Trooper Vornas," his voice was a snarl to match his face, "I don't recall anything in the procurement regulations that allows convicted men to carry contraband." The trooper looked blankly up at the commissar, a trail of smoke rising from his cigar. "Now, how are we going to handle this?"

"Shoot me and be done with it?" Vornas said, his expression unchanged. The commissar just smiled, and wagged a finger at Vornas, like he was some disobedient schoolchild. While Vornas looked up defiantly, Linkstrom was quietly shrinking away as the officer bore down on the trooper.

"Now why would I shoot you? No, not when I can keep you here longer. I'm sure that would be far worse, wouldn't it, trooper Vornas? Perhaps you want to die. So be it. But it will be on my time, not yours. And I say that you are still useful."

"Are you done, Ornoff?" said Vornas, still unfazed.

"Of course not. That is still contraband, trooper, and you must be punished for it." Commissar Ornoff clapped his gloved hands together. "I think that you may skip entrenching duty today. Go and get yourself a hot meal from the Maverons, and tell them I sent you."

"Whatever, sir."

"Good, see that it is done," Ornoff's gaze turned to Linkstrom, confused at what just happened. "Isn't there somewhere you should be, soldier? Off you go as well." The commissar walked away, leaving the two.

"He punishes you by giving you leave?" Linkstrom asked as Vornas gathered his gear. A whole packet of cigars fell out of the penal trooper's coat. He hesitated, and looked back at the Maveron. "I don't understand what he means to do."

"He's wants to turn the others against me, make them hate me, try to kill me," Vornas said bitterly. He stepped on the cigars and ground them under his heel. "They can try."

After Vornas left, Linkstrom's commanding officer, lieutenant Rakeshk, found him. "You alright, corporal? You want that cheek looked at?" Javar touched his hand to his slashed up cheek. He thought about the scars that covered Vornas's face, and wondered how many more he himself would have before the fighting was over.

"Those men, the penal troops, sir," he asked as they walked back to where the company was gathering, "Who are they?"

Rakeshk glanced at the green armored troopers digging in along the battle line, watched over by their vulture-like commissars. They hurled abuse at guardsmen not pulling their weight, and Ornoff was going as far as to beat some of the men. "They're Vendolanders, Jav. Veterans in the subsector. Been here for years, know the place as well as the locals. Command says that they're being spread out along our sector, one battalion in our center, two on our flanks. Looks like we've got their dregs with us. If one of those convicts comes after a Maveron man, you shoot him dead, you hear? Nobody is going to miss this criminal scum. The only thing they're good for is soaking up bullets."

"Yes, sir." Linkstrom wasn't sure if he meant it. Vornas had saved his life during the fight. And he'd shared a smoke with him afterwards. He didn't know what to think.

Rakeshk must have taken his silence for something else. He shook Linkstrom, "Come on, mate, you don't look well. Let's get you something to eat and sit you down, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

* * *

><p>Author's note: And I'm back. Hope you like it. Maybe I'll get on a roll and update more frequently. Or not.<p> 


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